Demolition Warrior
by QuantumSheep
Summary: A young Forerunner Warrior-Servant finds himself in a galaxy very different to the one he knew, stranded on a frontier desert world and hunted by new foes, all the while making unlikely friends with a disillusioned Spartan-II.
1. Fire Down Below

**Prelude  
Fire Down Below**

The first exchange of fire during the battle of Primas IV came in the form of a massive, swirling blue beam of energy that was emitted from a sizeable cannon on the underbelly of a human dreadnought. The beam lanced forth and struck the front shields of a Forerunner cruiser about one-hundred thousand kilometres ahead of it. The energy dispersed across the cruiser's shields, causing them to shimmer in a blue pulse, but despite the apparent lack of damage the shields themselves had been drained to a small fraction of their former strength.

Forerunner technology was superior in many ways to that of the humans, but despite this the human weaponry was more than capable of penetrating the defences on a Forerunner vessel. It was part of the reason why the war had gone on as long as it had, and why so many Forerunners had died throughout the many engagements that had occurred between the two species. Plenty of humans had died as well, and continued to do so, and in the black, starry void above Primas IV several ships from both sides of varying configurations met in a battle that was more evenly matched than most. In these waning years of this long war, the humans were throwing everything they had at their great foe, all the while utilising a policy that saw the complete destruction of any ground they lost. This included entire worlds that fell out of their control, which they burned from orbit, as if the humans had become sore losers.

The planet below was a lush, green sphere covered in swirling white clouds. Yet even now, large tracts were becoming orange with flame, as the ground battles raged and had been for several weeks. Entire sections of rainforest had been reduced to blackened wastelands as both sides deployed their most destructive artillery and armoured weapons and vehicles. From orbit, one might have been fooled into thinking some kind of vast forest fire had wiped out much of what was on the world's northern hemisphere.

Primas IV sat on that fine line where a planet was capable of sustaining life, located at the perfect distance from its young, searing yellow sun. Looking through the transparent floor of his drop-pod, Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience wondered if the planet would ever be the same after the battle was over.

Around him, the cruiser shook violently, as another series of beam weapons hit the shields. Human fighters buzzed by beneath them, engaging the sleeker Forerunner fighters. He shifted his gaze straight ahead, watching as his comrades-in-arms made their way into their assigned pods. His eyes went to the one who approached, who stood only inches shorter than he did but carried a face that appeared gentle, yet the yellow eyes belied a ferocity that only a Warrior-Servant could carry. Lance-of-Righteous-Flame was fifty years his senior, his older sister and the sixth of seven children. Accord was the youngest of the family, but like their parents he had come to fight for his people against their most dangerous enemy so far. And like most young Warrior-Servants, mere decades off of their first mutation, he stood over seven feet tall and was clad in armour that tended to almost his every need. It told him his vitals, it supplied him with nutrients and it ensured, to the best of its ability, that he would not die easy. Most Forerunners, especially the Warrior-Servants, would spend nearly their entire lives within their armour, sleek and form-fitting as it was. His was covered in glowing blue highlights, and it clung to him like a second skin. His sister was similarly outfitted, and like her he had retracted his helmet, if only to see her face one last time before they entered the very literal fire below.

"Are you ready?" His sister looked at him with noticeable concern. She had every right to, not only because they were family, but because they were the only two of the seven children of their parents to still be alive. Their brothers and sisters had died in battles similar to this one, often worlds apart from one another. It seemed fitting, then, that the two of them would go into battle together. It did wonders to help his confidence, and hers as well.

"I have always been ready, sister." Accord could feel the reassuring presence of his ancilla, the small blue figure at the back of his mind, as it ran one last overall check of his vital signs. His heart was beating faster, but that was to be expected. It peaked momentarily as another lance of white hot energy struck the cruiser's shields. The lights in the corridor flickered, and some distant part of the ship was torn asunder as the shields there failed and the beam found its way into the hull, burning through the metal and holo-matter like it was nothing.

"I can think of no better way, for the two of us to go into battle together." His sister put a hand to his shoulder, and their eyes met for what could have easily been the last time. "When we are on the ground, you stay close to me. The humans are vicious fighters, and they will not be dislodged easily."

"I will have your back," Accord replied. With her with him, any doubts or fears he had were allayed, replaced with a confidence that was befitting for any Forerunner warrior.

"And I will have yours." She smiled at him. With that, she took a step back and the drop pod's door shaped itself in the empty space she had just occupied. First it was transparent, before the matter solidified properly and the grey metal of the pod morphed into view, blocking him out from the rest of the world. An alarm klaxon was sounding, as the cruiser began to list, and he could only just make out an announcement, presumably the commander of the vessel, who called for an evacuation to begin. It did not matter to him now, he was about to evacuate the ship in his own way.

As the rest of the soldiers were secured within their pods, Accord did one last check of his weapon. It was a light rifle, typical of those assigned to Warrior-Servants, capable of folding itself down into a smaller, more compact form when not in use. The weapon was secured within the pod on his right-hand side, and would be there once he made landfall. As the ship's computers quickly went through the launch procedures, he looked down again, just as the transparent floor became something grey and opaque. The underbelly of the cruiser was aflame, and secondary explosions began to rip through its form. This did not matter, and it was only moments later when the ship spewed him, and the numerous other pods, out of its frame. Each pod shot through the void above Primas IV like a tiny meteor, blazing through space as fighters and capital ships from both sides blasted at each other with particle beams and plasma weapons. Blue, green, orange and pink bolts of light darted by, and Accord kept his hands on the grips at either side of him as tightly as he could as his drop-pod rocketed through the chaos. He had only a small viewing port in front of him, and through it he could see little else but the flares of vessels exploding, and some of the drop pods as they caught stray fire. Despite this, he remained calm, and he clenched his jaw and allowed his helmet to shape itself around his face, covering his eyes and filling his view with a detailed heads-up display that told him just about everything he needed to know about his mission and of his armour and vitals.

Orange fire filled the viewing port. The whole pod began to rattle as it entered the planet's atmosphere, and the shaking intensified as the friction increased. Accord closed his eyes, taking his mind away from the chaos outside the small shell he was inside of. He thought of home, on one of the colonies closest to the Forerunner capital, with its plains of red grass and orange skies. He thought of home, and of his parents, both of whom were still alive and likely waiting for his return. _Hoping_ for his return, but no doubt proud of what he had become. He was doing his part, and it was the least he could have done. He had followed in the footsteps of his Warrior-Servant parents, but really what other option had there been?

And almost suddenly, he heard the alert from his ancilla. His train of thought came to a crashing halt and he opened his eyes. The world through the viewing port was no longer blazing orange with the fire of atmospheric entry. Instead, there was the blue of a natural sky, which quickly merged into something else as thick grey smoke began to fill what little he could see of the outside. There was a violent lurch that rattled him to his core as the brakes engaged, bringing the pod to a sudden slowdown that was absorbed by both the sophisticated design and technology of the pod itself, and by the armour he wore. The greenery he had expected to see was miles away. Instead, he landed in a blackened landscape akin to something one may see in a nightmare. Burning embers drifted on the breeze, and spot fires burned all around, as the pod hit the ground hard at the edge of a smouldering crater.

The door shot open and Accord found his grip around his rifle. At the press of a button the weapon extended to its full length, and he stumbled outside into the infernal landscape beyond. The ground beneath him was blackened and ashen, and the forest that had once been here had had its trees reduced to charred logs. Energy weapons fire darted across the sky, and fighters from both sides of the battle zoomed across the heavens, shrouded in grey clouds and black smoke. Accord raised his rifle, his legs unsteady beneath him after the landing. His armour compensated for this, allowing him to keep his balance even as he gradually regained his bearings. Looking around, other drop pods had landed in the vicinity and armoured Warrior-Servants emerged, weapons at the ready. His sister was at the other side of the large crater, and he moved towards her as the group took up formation and began moving across the blackened, uneven terrain. Some of his comrades had not made it, their drop-pods destroyed in orbit by stray fire or even targeted enemy fire. He wondered, if only briefly, what it was like, to die up in space, vaporized in the heat of a particle beam, or left drifting as your damaged armour struggled to keep you from dying to the vacuum. None of these were pleasant thoughts, but it was all he could think about, especially when surrounded by such a dreary environment. Even now, the lightest drops of rain had begun to fall, heralding a much more intense storm.

This world had been a Forerunner colony. There had been cities here, amongst the forests, and Accord had seen them in recordings prior to being sent to this battlefield. They were not the grandest cities of the Forerunner empire, but they were close, and the capital, from his understanding, was only on the other side of the mountains that were visible on the horizon now. The humans had burned that city from orbit, and had landed their soldiers in the surrounding regions before engaging those staffed in the military installations there. They had not burned these places as they had the city, and it was likely they intended to take what military hardware they could for their own use. It was a dishonourable act, to eradicate a city of innocents, and it was all the more reason for Accord to be confident in his place here, and why he had come here. The humans had proved themselves the most dangerous enemy the Forerunners had ever faced, and they deserved nothing more (or less) than complete annihilation.

"Form up." His sister, being the highest-ranked soldier here, took the lead of their fifteen-strong group. Further down the blackened land stood a Forerunner military outpost, one that had fallen under the occupation of human soldiers. It was their objective here, and they had landed as close as they could to it without risking the drop-pods. Now, there was a significant distance across the wide open ground to cross, and it was this that served the first major challenge. Even now, armoured human soldiers were moving into defensive positions along the perimeter of the outpost. Behind them, the pyramid-like structure stood tall and gleamed in the subdued light of the day. Accord started to advance with the others, and as soon as they crossed the crest of a rise ahead they came under fire.

Blue and pink beams of energy darted across the blackened expanse of ground. Accord felt his heart pounding as he returned fire at the distant foes, crouching as he did so in order to better level his aim. His fellow Warrior-Servants took up positions nearby, taking cover in craters and behind fallen trees. The hail of energy weapons fire filled the air, going both ways, beams flaring and sizzling through the rain that fell upon the region. Accord levelled one of the armoured human soldiers in his rifle's scope, and he let fly with an orange beam that struck the human, who had crouched behind a barricade, squarely in the head. The helmeted head erupted into an explosion of charred flesh and pieces of brain matter, and the human fell backwards with smoke wafting from what remained of its skull. The act of killing was still fairly new to Accord, and had it been any other species he may have had doubts. But here, with the foes as they were, relentless and ruthless in the way they exterminated entire Forerunner worlds, he felt very little. As the exchange continued, the rain intensified, and a rumble of thunder made it clear that the storm was only just beginning.

His sister signalled for the group to advance. The first phalanx were the ones to take the lead positions, activating their portable hard-light shields. Six of them, crouched behind blue energy shields that extended from devices on the left forearms of their armour. The others moved in behind them, and the humans concentrated their fire upon the first phalanx as the Warrior-Servants rapidly advanced.

The plasma mortar was something Accord should have expected, but when he saw the swirling white ball of energy fall from the sky above he still felt some degree of surprise. It left a vapour trail in its wake as it evaporated the raindrops it fell through, and the ball of energy struck only metres away. There was an explosion of white flame and dirt and smoke, and the ground shook underfoot upon impact. Accord looked up, expecting to see their support falling from the heavens, but nothing came. Further warriors were supposed to follow them into this battle and provide supporting fire, yet for whatever reason none showed themselves. Instead, the small group of battle-hardened Warrior-Servants advanced on a heavily defended location with no one but themselves to rely on. Something had gone wrong, somewhere, yet not even his sister voiced anything about this. Everybody knew their mission, and they all knew that things did not always go according to plan.

The Warrior-Servants continued their advance. One of those within the forward phalanx fell under the withering hail of energy weapons fire, and the shield they carried failed as it overloaded under the strain and vanished in a brief blue flash of light. The Warrior-Servant who had carried the shield was shredded as several beams connected to his armoured form, and his armour could only do so much to withstand the searing heat of the beam weapons. He fell into a heap in the mud, and the others to either side of him moved in to close the gap. Accord maintained his position in the group as they continued to advance, closing the distance between them and the human defensive lines. Another of the energy shield bearers fell, and a plasma mortar shot landed only metres from where Accord stood. He felt the heat of the explosion wash over him, quickly followed by the concussive wave that knocked him off of his feet and sent him sprawling into the mud.

As he went down, he watched as one of his comrades-in-arms was hit, a beam connecting with his shoulder before another struck him in the chest and burned through the armour and into the flesh underneath. The Warrior-Servant fell forwards, purple blood oozing out of the scorched, jagged hole that had been put through him. Accord remained on the ground for a moment as another of his compatriots went down, catching three bolts of hot plasma in the chest that knocked the Warrior-Servant backwards. Another plasma mortar shot incinerated one of the others, the entire Warrior-Servant disappearing in the blue explosion, leaving only a charred husk that went rolling into a crater.

Accord felt a powerful hand grip his right arm and the next thing he knew he was back on his feet, being hauled along by a similarly armoured figure as they both darted into a ditch before the human defensive lines. The forward phalanx had collapsed and several other Warrior-Servants were brought down in a hail of weapons fire that sent their burned, maimed bodies tumbling upon the uneven terrain. The rain poured down, and the ground underfoot turned into a thick, sticky black mud. Accord, his heart thumping within his chest, looked to his saviour and realised that his sister had pulled him out of immediate danger. Now it was just the two of them, right below the human defences. Even now they could hear shouts as some of the human warriors moved forwards to find them, the Forerunner assault seemingly thwarted.

"Stay down," his sister ordered. Accord did not need to be told twice. He clutched his light rifle and aimed it out of the ditch, in the direction of the human defences. His sister did the same, and the first of the human warriors appeared at the top of the ditch. Both Forerunners opened fire, orange beams striking the armoured figure. The armour itself only did a basic job of absorbing the powerful beams of energy, and the human warrior came falling forwards with several holes burned through its form. The body landed in a heap only inches from Accord, and he felt one hand fall upon his left knee, as if the human had tried to reach for him as one last act of defiance, as its life dwindled quickly from its bloodied form. Strangely enough, Accord found himself unnerved by this touch.

"Are we all that's left?" Accord pushed the dead human's arm away from him.

"It does not matter if we are," his sister countered. "We will finish the mission." His sister was back on her feet at that moment, and Accord followed suit. Both of them moved up the muddy ditch, rain dripping down their armour as they went. Another human warrior appeared, and both of them blasted their enemy down without a moment's hesitation. They were upon the defensive lines here, where the humans had erected crude but effective barricades out of metal and onyx parts. The Forerunner outpost was only a short distance ahead, a tall pyramid-like structure with an even taller spire at one end that towered well over the surrounding landscape. The amount of soldiers stationed here would have been few, and it would not have been difficult for a sizeable human force to gain control of the place. Accord could only guess as to why it had been deemed important enough for them to try and retake, but any amount of Forerunner ground taken back from the barbaric humans was worth fighting for. His sister moved ahead as the remaining outside defenders turned their attention upon the pair. Beams darted through the air and his sister blasted the nearest human soldier down, whilst Accord swivelled his aim about and sent a shot into one standing some distance to his sister's right. This one fell backwards with a fist-sized hole shot through its chest, and Accord was quick to shift his aim to another who came round from a barricade ahead. A beam from his light rifle found its way into the human warrior's shoulder, and the human stumbled as it levelled its weapon and fired. Accord felt the heat of the beam miss his left arm by mere centimetres, and he followed up with another shot that put the human down for good.

His sister was already moving ahead. As she approached the entrance to the outpost, a human warrior appeared from within and the pair immediately connected, both attempting to raise their weapons before they instead opted to grappling, with his sister knocking the rifle out of the human's grip before the human took to grabbing for her own. Locking their hands upon the light rifle, his sister forced the human to sidestep such that the pair were side on to where Accord was standing. He raised his rifle, taking aim at the human, but a swift kick from his sister's opponent sent his sister back against the nearby wall, only a short distance from the entrance. Accord took the opportunity to fire, now that his sister was out of his scope, but the weapon's charge had diminished and he found himself scrambling for an additional charging cell, all the while his sister continued to struggle with the human soldier. Finally, his sister pulled a small light blade from her armour and plunged the glowing weapon into the human soldier's stomach, slicing it through in such a way that it disembowelled the human. She let the body fall from her grasp, and from there it plopped into the mud unceremoniously.

Accord finally reloaded his weapon. His sister deactivated the energy blade and picked up her rifle. She did not look at him as she did this, and what remained unspoken was clear. Accord's inexperience had almost cost her, and he doubted he would have been able to live with himself had anything happened to her because of his mistakes.

The pair entered the outpost, going down a narrow corridor that lead underground. The interior was mostly grey, the floor covered in the geometric designs that were common on Forerunner constructs. His sister took the lead, taking them down into a large well-lit room that had since been converted to a makeshift human command post, with tables and chairs erected amongst communications equipment and terminals of human design. At the far end was a large grey sphere, set within an alcove on the wall, and the humans had apparently found it a point of interest, judging from the cables and computers they had connected to it. His sister stopped at one of the Forerunner terminals amongst the haphazard command post, and she tapped a few holographic keys that turned the display above into some kind of blueprint of the facility. Accord stood nearby, his eyes scanning the interior for any sign of humans.

"This does not appear to be an ordinary outpost," Accord said.

"It isn't." His sister spoke bluntly, and she turned her head to him. She could almost feel her piercing gaze from under her helmet. "It is a research facility. Specifically, stasis field research. It is something we cannot allow to fall into human hands, but we cannot afford to lose it entirely." She paused, letting the information register within Accord. "We came here before the humans could make any progress on deciphering our research. But the sensors here indicate that there are more of them on the way." She tapped several more keys, all the while Accord stood watch.

The interior was eerily silent, a far cry from the noise of the battle on the surface, and the whole atmosphere was one Accord found unnerving. He kept his rifle raised to his shoulder, eyeing the way they had come, and the corridor that started at the other end of the room. Such a change in pace was disorienting, as only moments before Accord had been fighting for his life.

"How long do we have?" Accord asked.

"They'll be right on top of us within minutes." His sister stepped away from the terminal and turned to him. Her helmet retracted then, revealing her feminine, yet hardened, features. "We will have to hold them off. I have orders to destroy this place if we cannot reclaim it."

Accord knew what this would entail. He had known that something like it might be required of him, the moment he had come of age and entered the military to fulfil the duties required of one of his rate. Giving one's life for the cause was a noble act, yet even now he felt a pang of doubt. Of unease, even, as his eyes met with those of his sister.

"The self destruct?" He asked.

"The humans were smart enough to disable it."

"So we fight?"

"No." His sister shook her head slowly. For the first time in many years, he saw that stern face of hers turn into something else, soften into something positively downbeat. "I can order our ships to burn this place from orbit. Kill us, of course, and the human soldiers as well. The last resort measure." The look in her eyes said enough. She was giving him an out. He could leave, make a run for it. She _wanted_ him to, as she would be the one to give the order and ensure the place was destroyed. Accord shook his head then, and he thought he saw her eyes light up, ever so slightly.

"I am here, as you are. To the end."

At that moment, the first of the human attackers rushed into the room. Both Accord and his sister opened fire, bringing down the soldier and the one that followed him inside. As they both went down, the others that had been following them stayed back, likely to rethink their approach. To them, there was an enemy force entrenched within an underground structure with only a limited number of entrances. They would likely hang back and use a less direct means of attack, if they had such resources available to them.

"I will make the call," his sister said. "Once the order is given, we will have only minutes before the ship moves into position."

Accord nodded. He understood perfectly. His sister proceeded to communicate with the fleet in orbit, one that was currently engaging a human force of similar proportions. From the corridor leading from the entrance, he could hear voices. Human voices, likely shouting orders at each other as they gathered their resources for another attack. He was waiting for the grenades to start flying in, and he kept his eyes fixed on the doorway back the way he had come. Behind him, his sister recited the appropriate codes for the order to be recognized by the commander of the ship that would carry out the bombardment. He could hear the exchange through his connection, and the commander sounded genuinely regretful as he acknowledged the order and went to pass it on down to his subordinates.

His sister looked up.

"It is done," she said simply. Her eyes went to the nearby terminal and she walked over. There, she worked at a few of the keys while Accord kept watch on the entrance. He could hear the human soldiers moving about outside. He waited, his finger on the trigger of the rifle. If several of them ran in at once, the two of them would likely be overwhelmed. The humans were only hanging back because they did not know how many Forerunners were inside.

"Brother, come here."

Accord turned around and saw his sister gazing at the holographic display intently. Cautiously, he took his eyes away from the doorway and walked over to her. She likely wanted to show him something, perhaps tell him something prior to their impending incineration. Instead, as he neared, she put an arm around him and pulled him into a strong headlock that caught him off-guard. A small circular device revealed itself in her palm, and she placed it against his armour. As soon as it connected, he felt the entire armour suit lock into place, immobilising him. Such a device was sometimes issued to squad leaders, a means of keeping unruly troops under control or immobilising the wounded to enable better treatment of their injuries. Neither of those applied to Accord, so he could only guess as to why she was using it on him.

He was so surprised he hardly uttered a word as she began to drag him to the large sphere at the other end of the room.

"What…what are you doing?" Accord squirmed against her grasp, but she was strong and his locked-up armour made any kind of movement difficult. Ahead, the sphere slowly opened up, revealing the empty shell within. It reminded him of a cryptum, but it was much smaller than one.

"You're family to me," his sister said. "And family should stick together, even in death. But I can't allow that, brother. Not like this. Not when there's a way out for at least one of us." She brought him inside the sphere, large enough as it was for him to lie down in its centre. The armour-lock device continued to immobilise him, and he could do little but watch his sister through his visor as she set him down and backed away. "You will be safe inside there. The stasis field will protect you. When you wake up, it will be as if no time has passed at all."

"What?" Accord could hardly believe what he was hearing. The entire room shook then, as the first of the beams from the ship in orbit struck the surface. "No, no, you cannot do this." He struggled against his armour, but the device had it firmly locked down. His sister, Lance-of-Righteous-Flame, had moved back over to the main terminal. There, she activated the stasis field, and the sphere began to close around Accord. Sparks flew as another beam struck the ground above. It would be a few more before they burned their way deep enough, giving the pair perhaps another minute before they were incinerated. "Get me out of here, Lance! _Don't leave me like this!_ "

His sister ignored his pleas as the sphere shut, encasing him in darkness. He felt a warm, tingling sensation cover him as the prototype stasis field engaged, and the world around him, darkened as it was, seemed to fade from view as his senses were starved of even the sensation of passing time. His voice, screaming for his sister to free him so they would at least die together, caught in his throat as his vocal chords seized. Finally, consciousness left him, and along with that went the very galaxy he had known all his life.


	2. Frontier Justice

**Frontier Justice**

September 7th, 2557

To those who were new to Deckar's Stand, the hub of activity that was the Central Standing Hotel looked to be about five centuries out of date. Like most frontier settlements within the Outer Colonies of Earth, Deckar's Stand was a mishmash of prefab buildings and sturdier, yet rustic looking, brick and wooden buildings. Often when settlements were constructed on faraway worlds like this, raw materials were at a premium, and once the expansion went beyond what prefab structures had been brought by the settlers, the more old-fashioned materials such as timber and sandstone became the go-to for construction needs. As a result, Deckar's Stand, which was the largest settlement on the world of Thrace, consisted of an appearance that made it resemble something one might have found in the twentieth century, especially beyond the central district where the first buildings had been constructed. That district was comprised of prefab structures, old as they were now, piled on top of one-another in large block-shaped configurations with narrow alleyways between such collections.

From there, the town spread out for some distance, and was home to roughly two-hundred-thousand registered citizens. Most buildings outside of the central prefabs were at most five floors in height. The town hall, where the local government operated, was the largest outside of the blocky prefabs, and was built from brown brick and desert-coloured sandstone. Towards the central district was the Central Standing Hotel, comprised of prefab materials that put it at about four floors in height. It was surrounded by similar-looking structures, grey and dusty as they were, though what had once been premade living accommodations had since been converted into much roomier specialised places, and the descendants of the original settlers had long ago moved into much more appealing homes. Nonetheless, the Hotel was just that, and had been expanded upon in the years since its erection through extensions and renovations, giving the interior a look more befitting for a place intended to attract people into staying within.

The entire third floor was a bar and restaurant. One of the best in town, but also one of the seediest, where the more rough-and-tumble sorts often visited in order to get as drunk as possible before closing. At this time of day, where the sun was low and the sky above was the deep purple of twilight, there were a great many patrons taking up the tables and booths of the restaurant. Seated at one booth in a corner, away from the general commotion of a busy eating establishment, sat a decidedly odd pair who had their eyes set on an even stranger assortment of people at a table some distance away. One of the pair was a woman in a tight-fitting set of desert-coloured civvies and a brown jacket. Typical wear for someone in such a heavily desert area, although this woman was distinctly larger and more muscular than most. Taller, even, though when seated she did not stand out as much as she otherwise would have.

Her skin was fair, pale even, and her face was lined with weariness. It was the kind of weariness that came with seeing so much on a frequent basis, of fighting in a major war against aliens bent on destroying humanity for over twenty-five years, and of continuing the fight even after the war had ended. The woman's blue eyes were what stood out, and despite feeling as energetic as usual and having had a good night's sleep, these eyes still carried the weight of the many terrible things they had seen. Leah was a Spartan-II, one of only a handful that remained, and unlike most she had found her way into work more fitting for an undercover police officer than an enhanced super soldier. Since the end of the war, she had allowed her hair to grow out, and she had tied it back once it had grown down to the back of her neck. The light brown hair was mostly straight, somewhat wavy, and it gave her a more youthful appearance that might have fooled others into thinking that she was younger than she actually was. How many years had it been since she had last let her hair grow? Normally it had been fairly close-cropped, but that had been during the war, when combat had been a near daily occurrence. Now, she had a reason to give herself a more 'normal' appearance, as dressing up in civilian clothing and venturing into a seedy bar on some distant planet was somewhat outside her usual kind of work.

"You know, you look kind of nice in that jacket." The other individual seated at the table, a tall and slim man with a shaved head and stubble, turned to her and regarded the relatively relaxed Spartan with a slightly cocked brow. He was dressed in a rugged jacket of sorts, typical of freighter pilots. It was more fitting for his assumed identity of a trader, and it helped for him to fit in amongst the rough-and-tumble crowd of the restaurant. "I mean, you didn't look bad before. I for one find muscular women very attractive."

Leah frowned. Arnold Hogan was a relatively unknown quantity to her, and they had since only been acquainted for about three weeks. He seemed able enough, and carried his years of experience well. Like her, he was in his late thirties, and unlike his outfit might suggest, he was an operative for the Office of Naval Intelligence. A former Army Major beforehand, one who had worked his way up the ranks, before he had moved into more clandestine kinds of work because some people high up had seen something in him. Leah, on the other hand, had been assigned to ONI only somewhat willingly. For a Spartan-II, it appeared that the UNSC hardly knew what to do with her. They had gone and placed her with the group that was continuing the fight against humanity's many enemies, even if those enemies were not so blatant anymore.

"That's real cute, Hogan.

"Why, thank you." Hogan turned his head, and his eyes went to the group of men seated around the table towards the middle of the restaurant area. There were four of them, although one was not human. Ever since the end of the war, some of the former Covenant species had begun to mingle a bit with humanity, and on a planet this far out on the frontier it was not uncommon to see a few of the avian Kig-Yar around, looking to trade. What the T'vaon Skirmisher seated at the table was looking to trade was part of the reason why the pair were here, and why ONI had come to Thrace in the first place.

"When should we make a move?" Leah asked. She played with her glass of beer, swirling it in one hand while she kept her eyes on the group at the table. The three men appeared to be typical local types, including one in a dark brown shirt who appeared to be the one doing the talking for the trio. As for the Skirmisher, he was dressed in a grey coat and some similarly coloured armour plating underneath. His feathers were a deep black in colour, and the thick plume of them at the back of his head stood raised like some sort of weird hairdo. He spoke in a raspy voice, but his command of the English language was very good. Leah had never seen a Skirmisher in this light before, and from what she remembered of her experiences with them in the past, they were good fighters but they hardly seemed the type to sit down and have a civilized discussion. Then again, the ones she had met in the past had all been trying to kill her. The one seated at the table was just another patron, and was, at a glance, enjoying the local hospitality.

"Soon." Hogan sat back in his chair, back to the window. The street outside was dark, and was little more than a narrow alleyway illuminated by small neon signs. Leah had been to a lot of places, and Deckar's Stand had to be one of the dirtiest towns she had ever visited. Everything outside seemed to be covered in layers of brown dust, and she supposed this only made sense given the barren terrain that surrounded the town. Thrace had a surface that was mostly desert, save for some patches of greenery here and there, but it had not been the scenery that had drawn people here. Like most colonies, people had come here searching for riches, and Thrace had delivered these to the original settlers tenfold. Many people had come here and made themselves a great deal of money by mining the mineral ores that were in abundance underneath the planet's surface. It was part of the reason why Deckar's Stand was such a bustling population centre, despite the overall lack of aesthetic appeal. It was also a place that remained hostile to the UNSC, hence why she and Hogan used false identities during their stay here. That, and it was typical ONI operating procedure.

"We need the birdman alive," Hogan added.

"Jak'Talva." Leah remembered the name of the 'birdman' from the briefing. She also remembered just about every other part of the briefing and its relevant documentation. Hogan, on the other hand, hardly seemed interested in the details.

"Funny name." Hogan took a sip from his bottle of beer, a more expensive brand than the one Leah had arbitrarily ordered. She was not one for alcohol, certainly not on a mission like this. Still, she had to try and fit in around here. At least making it look like she was drinking seemed like an apt way to do just that.

"He's only twenty-five."

"Twenty-five? In human or birdman years?"

Leah shrugged.

"The reports didn't specify."

"Yeah, well, they _did_ specify that he's been selling arms to the Innies around here. Never thought I'd reach a point in my career where I was working to take down an alien arms dealer, but it's funny how things change." Hogan took another gulp of beer, his eyes set on the table of suspicious characters. "Those three with him. They're Innies, aren't they?"

"Most likely. But I don't see Colonel Carson."

"Of course not. He wouldn't come here for a transaction. He's got his lackeys to do that." Hogan paused, mulling over the subject for a moment. Leah remained quiet. She was not as quiet as some of the other Spartans she knew, but she did prefer to only speak when she thought it was necessary. Actions spoke louder than words, after all, and she was not one to prattle on like other people she had met.

At the table nearby, the man in the brown shirt had reached into one pocket and pulled out a small yellow envelope. He slid it across the table to the Skirmisher, who gave his species' version of a smile, which essentially amounted to bearing all his pointy white teeth.

"You're about to be one very rich bird, Mister Talva," Brown Shirt said. It was hard to hear what was being said at the table over the general commotion of the busy restaurant, but the listening device that had been planted near to the table helped immeasurably. Leah could hear every word, clear as day, as it transmitted through the ear-piece in her right ear, carefully hidden as it was.

The Skirmisher opened the envelope slightly, and eyed what was inside. Leah assumed it was some kind of paper money, probably UNSC credits. Perhaps only a fraction of the price of the transaction, a deposit even? Leah had no respect for criminals like this. Still, it was not her place to have an opinion. She was here to carry out a mission, and she would do just that. Criminals, Insurrectionists, whatever they may have been, they needed to be stopped. The Insurrectionist attitudes on Thrace had always been severe, and ever since the war had ended the planet had operated independently whilst the UNSC had been gradually recovering from the destruction. For whatever reason, the Covenant had bypassed Thrace during their original rampage through the Outer Colonies. While other worlds burned and millions died, Thrace continued its operations and became an economic powerhouse within the months after the war's end. Naturally, opportunists like the young Skirmisher Jak'Talva were around to make a financial killing.

"A generous deposit," Jak'Talva said, in his raspy tones. He stuffed the envelope into his armour-plated jacket. "You can be sure that the guns will be where we agreed, when we agreed." He nodded his head, pleased at the transaction. "I believe the human custom is to shake hands?"

"He sounds like a damn English professor," Hogan muttered, hearing it all through his ear-piece. Leah grinned when she heard this, and she had to admit that the alien did have an excellent grasp of the human language.

"Like you said, things have changed." She pushed her glass of beer away from her. Things were about to happen, and she had no desire to booze up beforehand. Hogan put aside his bottle of liquor, as he no doubt got the same feeling.

"It's a strange line of work you're into," Brown Shirt said. "What compelled you to do what you do for a living? I'm curious."

"What compelled me?" The Skirmisher sounded pleased with himself. "The money's good, that is a given. But what draws me, and you may be surprised to hear this, is the thrill. There is a strange kind of satisfaction to be gained, from selling arms. And I will admit, my prices are cheaper than most."

"Are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" Hogan asked, as he took the ear-piece out of his ear. He had apparently heard enough, and Leah did not blame him. She did the same, all the while another of the ONI operatives present in the building began to move into position.

Hogan looked at her, and Leah felt a momentary sense of confusion at the question. They did have a plan in place, one that had become somewhat complicated by the sheer amount of civilians within the premises.

Another ONI operative, one dressed as a worker here, entered the restaurant area at that point. He carried a tray of drinks, and he approached the table where the criminals were seated. Hogan and Leah readied themselves, as the operative stopped by the table.

"Drinks?" The 'waiter' asked.

"Get out of here." Brown Shirt did not sound terribly pleased. The Skirmisher sat back in his seat, and from one pocket on his jacket he retrieved a lone cigarette. Again, things had indeed changed, if one of humanity's Covenant enemies was now about to enjoy one of the less healthy habits of the species.

"We didn't order any damn drinks," Brown Shirt added.

"I would love a drink," the Skirmisher replied. He put the cigarette to his elongated, beak-like snout. He clamped it between his jaws and looked up at the waiter.

"It's my treat." The 'waiter' began to set the tray down. Abruptly, he reared it back and sent it forth in a powerful swing that connected with the top of the Skirmisher's head. The whole move was over in seconds, and as the glasses flew and their contents spilled all over the table and the group seated around it, Brown Shirt uttered a shout of surprise while the Skirmisher attempted to duck. The reflexes on a Kig-Yar were significantly faster than on most humans, but even his quick reaction did not stop the metal tray from hitting him. He fell backwards with his chair, and the 'waiter' threw aside the partially dented tray whilst both Hogan and Leah rose to their feet.

"Office of Naval Intelligence!" Hogan declared. He pulled his gun, a standard M6C pistol. Leah did the same, and the group who had been seated around the table were up on their feet within seconds. The Skirmisher scrambled onto all fours, sizing up the situation with his yellow eyes. The 'waiter' started to move back, drawing a gun. As he did this, Brown Shirt pulled a rugged looking pistol from his waist, as did his cohorts. A few tables away, another suspicious looking character was up on their feet, and this one draw a submachine gun with alarming speed. All these moves happened in only seconds, and each one Leah saw with her trained eyes. The submachine gun wielder took aim at Hogan, and before the man could react she had lunged towards him, shoving him aside as the weapons fire and the chaos erupted.

People started screaming. Civilians were up on their feet and running for the exits. The submachine gun rattled, each rapid shot echoing within the restaurant. Part of the tiled pillar near Hogan exploded as rounds collided with it, sending forth fragments. Hogan grunted as a bullet connected with his lower chest as he fell, and Leah brought her gun up before she worked the trigger. She fired a volley, and the gunmen scattered, with the man with the submachine gun going down with three freshly created holes in his chest. He had been watching the deal, Leah realised, and she had suspected there would be more of Carson's men present, but she could not have been certain who and where they may have been.

Brown Shirt and his friends started shooting. Another two armed men entered the restaurant at that point, presumably both having been keeping watch outside. They drew submachine guns, bulky older models that were cheap and common amongst the Outer Colonies. Both operated in coordination as they raised the guns and extended the collapsible stocks. People brushed by them in a hurry to escape, and both gunmen opened fire with little regard for the people racing by. Leah watched as two civilians were gunned down, bodies convulsing with each hit they took, before the chairs on her left were torn apart. She dived to the floor, rolling to one side as bullets collided with the carpet near her. Dust and debris exploded from nearby, and she took aim at one of the gunmen before returning fire. Behind her, Hogan had crawled into cover behind a tiled pillar, and he clutched his side with one hand whilst he peered around it towards the armed criminals. The two submachine gunners were moving forwards, whilst Brown Shirt and his friends backed into cover. The Skirmisher was scrambling away, likely making for the exit. Leah saw this and knew right away that she had to stop him.

Brown Shirt stood up amongst the tables and chairs and started shooting. His high calibre pistol thundered with each trigger pull, and Leah found herself seeking cover behind one of the nearby pillars as the table on her right came apart, splitting in half as one of the powerful rounds went straight through it. Again and again, Brown Shirt fired, seemingly reckless in an attempt to force the pair into shelter. Glasses and plates shattered, and the window behind Leah came apart into hundreds of pieces. She took a deep breath as she moved around the pillar, part of it exploding near her face as another of the high calibre rounds struck its surface. She dived forwards, firing as she went down, planting a bullet through the gunman's right leg. He stumbled, his shooting coming to a halt momentarily.

The two thugs with the submachine guns turned their attentions to her. Leah did the same, rolling behind a set of tables as they opened fire in her direction. Wood and glass exploded around her, and one of the gunners was caught in the chest twice, sending him tumbling onto the ground. The other stopped to reload, and Leah, still on the floor, did not hesitate to empty the four left in her pistol's magazine into him. Each impact sent forth a bloody red spurt on his mostly white shirt, his body twitching and convulsing as he fell. He crumpled onto a heap upon a table, sending plates and glasses falling down around it.

The Skirmisher was going for the exit, as were the other two thugs. Brown Shirt was back on his feet, apparently unaffected by the bleeding hole in his leg. Nearby, Hogan moved from behind the pillar, sending a volley of fire towards Brown Shirt. The thug stumbled as another round clipped him in the shoulder, but he was quick to return the favour, planting two more rounds into Hogan that punched through the armoured vest he was wearing under his clothing and splattered out the other side. Leah watched with mixed feelings as the operative went down, and it was apparent that he was not about to get back up. Leah could certainly feel some resentment, and for someone who had seen far too many of her own comrades die, she felt a familiar pang as Hogan went down. Brown Shirt turned and vaulted over a partition, making for the exit with the others.

The 'waiter' had turned to give chase. Leah followed him, and she could hear shooting as the escaping thugs cleared their path to the exit. Entering the corridor beyond, a set of stairs to her left lead down to the lower floors and to the exits. There were several patrons here, fleeing for their lives. The two thugs from Brown Shirt's table were pushing through them, and one callously shot a civilian man in the back for taking up his path. Leah quickly reloaded her gun, her gaze going to the Skirmisher and to Brown Shirt, both of whom were rushing into an adjoining corridor. Nonetheless, the two going downstairs were a problem, and she did not intend on letting them get away.

"Get down!" She shouted, shoving aside a panicked woman. "Get down, everyone! _Now!_ "

The civilians did as she asked. The two crooks racing for the exit continued running, even as the people around them crouched or went prone. Leah climbed over the balustrade, seating herself upon it, before letting herself slide down. As she moved, she started shooting, planting several bullets into the backs of the fleeing crooks. Both went down into bloodied heaps as Leah's feet hit the tiled floor at the end of the stairs, and she promptly stepped away from the railing and regarded her handiwork. Both unassuming men in civilian clothing, but armed and dangerous. It was frustrating, in a way. When humanity had been fighting the Covenant, it had been obvious who the enemy was. Now, fighting these rebellious groups on the frontier, anyone and everyone could be out to get her.

She began to reload her smoking pistol. Behind her, she heard footsteps upon the stairs, and she swivelled around to see Brown Shirt appear. He had a pistol in one hand and a submachine gun in the other, and he opened fire as soon as their gazes met. Leah jumped to one side as the floor near her was torn asunder, fragments of tiles flying everywhere.

The glass doors that served as the hotel entrance flung open then. Four men in black uniforms and combat gear came barging inside, their clothing unmarked and their faces hidden under visors and helmets. Leah looked to them as she came to a halt behind the reception desk, realising that the backup team had decided to move in. They had been waiting outside in a van for some time, and presumably the sound of the shooting had brought them in. Unfortunately, they had entered at the worst possible time.

"Get out! Get out of here!" Leah shouted at them, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of the heavy submachine gun Brown Shirt carried. The noise was deafening, and the four ONI troops came under a withering hail of fire that sent a few of them spinning, glass and tiles shattering under the force of the bullets. All four of them landed in a heap near the entrance, and Brown Shirt promptly backed off upstairs and began to reload. Leah did not waste any time in giving chase, and she bolted upstairs after the gunman. They went up a floor, and she caught sight of him at the end of the corridor as he ducked into a storage area of sorts.

Leah rushed in after him, watching as he moved behind a set of shelves in the next room. She took aim and fired off a shot, blowing apart some kind of alien fruit that had been resting on one of the shelves. She moved further onwards, passing a refrigeration unit and heading into a back room where a number of sacks of grain and other general ingredients were stacked. Here, Brown Shirt had cornered himself, and he clutched the Skirmisher in front of him like a shield.

"No honour among criminals?" She asked him. The Skirmisher looked displeased enough, and he beared a bleeding cut on his forehead from where he had been struck earlier. Brown Shirt pointed the submachine gun her way, and judging from the look in his eyes he seemed eager to throw his life away. He knew he was cornered, and he had taken his arms supplier hostage as if to make this clear.

Still, Brown Shirt said nothing. The Skirmisher, Jak'Talva, was somewhat more talkative.

"Please, just shoot him already." He spat the words, his dislike of the man apparent. Brown Shirt tightened his grip around the alien's neck, and Jak'Talva visibly tensed.

"You're not welcome here, UNSC," Brown Shirt said. "You think you can enforce your ways out here? We stopped being a part of your club years ago. And we're better for it."

"Let the Skirmisher go," Leah ordered. She levelled her pistol in his direction, taking aim as best she could with the Skirmisher in front of her intended target. "There's still a chance you can get out of this alive."

Brown Shirt shook his head. Her words felt hollow, even to her, and this frontier rebel was not about to fall for them. One thing Leah had never been good at was negotiation. It was not something she had needed to worry about, during her lengthy military career. She was no negotiator, she was a hammer used to crush the enemies of humanity. A precise one at that.

Leah fired, deciding it best to end things here, instead of prolonging them. The round hit home, taking a few of the Skirmisher's head feathers with it before it hit Brown Shirt's forehead and blew a gaping hole out the back of his skull. Brown Shirt's grip on the alien slackened and he fell, his eyes open wide, yet blank and lifeless, as blood poured down his face. He hit the floor with an unceremonious _thump_ , leaving Jak'Talva standing where he was with some human blood splattered along one side of his face. The Skirmisher seemed surprised, and his yellow eyes went to Leah. They contained a mix of shock and relief, as if he was unsure what to think.

"I must say, you don't waste time, do you?" The Skirmisher composed himself as best he could. Leah lowered her gun before she flicked the safety on and slid it back into the holster at her waist. "I think I will depart, before…" He started to walk for the door, but Leah stepped in front of him and put a hand to his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Jak'Talva gave her a sheepish look, or at least she thought it was one given his alien appearance. "Or I can go with you. It's no issue."

Leah turned the Skirmisher around and fished in her pockets for a plastic cable-tie, one of the handful she had brought in anticipation of bringing in her intended quarry. The Skirmisher did not resist, even as she tightened the plastic length around his wrists.

"Am I allowed to make a call?" Jak'Talva asked. Leah grabbed him by one arm and turned him towards the door. "Surely you can allow me that one luxury? There is someone I need to speak to…"  
His words were lost on the Spartan as she started to walk him out of the building, and past the bodies of those who had died during the mission to arrest him. Leah wondered if it would be worth it, and she got the feeling that it was not. It was the same lack of fulfilment she had felt ever since coming out here, taking the fight to the anti-UNSC dissidents who were prevalent in the Outer Colonies. Things had indeed changed, so much so she was _arresting_ a Kig-Yar, instead of simply killing it and moving on.


	3. On Deadly Ground

**On Deadly Ground**

"It's an unforgiving land out here, Mister Ambassador."

The noise of the Pelican's engines was nullified within the confines of its passenger compartment. It was a relatively smooth ride at that, despite the older model of Pelican, and the rear ramp was wide open in order to both let the fresh air in, and to provide a sweeping and quickly moving view of the desert outside. It was early morning, and the sun was only just coming up on this part of Thrace. As one would expect for a desert, the temperature was rising quickly, and the freezing conditions of a typical night would quickly become the sweltering heat of the daytime.

Colonel William Carson had lived on this world for many years, and in some ways he was used to the back-and-forth weather. The individual he spoke to, who was seated just across from him, lacked that tolerance for the heat. Even now the bureaucrat was sweating, although this may have been because of the company he had fallen into, and less because of the rising temperature. To either side of him sat two burly armour-vested mercenary types, and there were two more armed men seated on the Colonel's side of the passenger area, all the while the Pelican soared over the barren plains of the forgotten Outer Colony world. An unforgiving land it may have been, but it was a rewarding land at that. The riches underground proved as much.

"I know the way you people operate." Carson pulled a cigar from his pocket and stuck the end to his mouth. It was a bad habit, but he was old enough to not really care about any of the effects on his health smoking might have. Besides, they said cigars were better for you than cigarettes, which he supposed was something. "You know that I know how you people operate. It's why you see me as such a threat."

Carson pulled a silver plated lighter from his jacket. Upon it was the crest of the UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. The hardest soldiers in the UNSC, at least they had been until the Spartans had started stealing all the thunder. Carson had kept the lighter with him for many years, one last memento of his previous life before the Outer Colonies had drawn him in. The bureaucrat, the Ambassador, watched him with noticeable unease. Carson kept a straight face, despite the fact that he very much enjoyed seeing the man squirm.

"I think your superiors made a mistake, sending you here." Carson flicked the lighter, planting the flame to the end of the cigar and taking a decent drag upon it as he pocketed the lighter. He was in his usual desert-coloured uniform, complete with armoured vest and peaked cap. A man in his fifties, Carson beared the marks of age on his weathered face. His hair was greying around the sides and his eyes a pale blue. "I think they _know_ they made a mistake, and what I think is worth noting about that is that I think they don't care that they made a mistake. The UNSC has never been big on diplomacy. They like to put on their little façade, about peace and prosperity and all that, but you and I both know just how they operate. Underneath that façade they've got ONI and their Spartans to enforce their ways wherever and whenever they want."

The UNSC Ambassador was a bald man in his sixties, dressed in a white uniform that had since been stained by the brown sand of the deserts that covered most of this planet. Carson regarded him with some disdain, knowing full well what sending him here meant. He had hoped he would have a lot longer to go before the UNSC started trying to rein in colonies like Thrace, but he supposed that that had been wishful thinking. The war with the aliens was over, it had been over for four years now. The UNSC would be back to their old ways, and it was taking them very little time to do it.

"Now, you see, my daddy used to tell me a lot of things, between the occasional beatings." Carson took another drag before sending forth a sizeable cloud of smoke that wafted up towards the ceiling, dissipating as it moved. "He told me, on more than one occasion, that a man should never let another man push him around on his own property, and that if someone tried to do just that, you were well within their rights to beat the shit out of them. And that's a philosophy I've lived by, as have many others, for most of my life. Thing is, Mister Ambassador, you've gone ahead and done just what my daddy told me I shouldn't let happen."

The Pelican began to touch down. Outside, there was little more than barren desert, with the occasional spot of dark green vegetation. They were coming down upon a dry lakebed, well away from any settlements of any kind. The arse-end of nowhere, in the arse-end of space. This was part of the reason why Carson had chosen to stay on Thrace, as it was so far from the UNSC that it seemed the perfect place to settle down quietly. Being the man he was, he was not so much about the 'quiet' retirement, especially since the people around here had been a disorganized bunch of miners and hydroponic farmers under the rule of some self-titled 'Colonial Authority'. It had struck him that they were in need of an actual leader, and he had naturally taken the charge to be just what they needed. Now he had the UNSC prying their fingers into his figurative pie, and he did not like it one bit. And, like his father had said, those who stuck their noses into your business when they were not supposed to needed to be taught a lesson. The Ambassador might have been little more than a bureaucrat, but Carson did not like bureaucrats. Very few people did, from what he could tell. That was another thing to like about living out here: there was very little red tape, even less if you were in charge. There were no politicians, certainly none in the conventional sense.

"Come along, Mister Ambassador." Carson rose to his feet as the Pelican touched down. His soldiers followed suit, and two of them grabbed the increasingly nervous Ambassador and lead him down the exit ramp in Carson's wake. Outside, the air was warm and the morning sun was just over the horizon. Sunblock was practically a necessity around here.

"What are you going to do?" The Ambassador looked like he was doing his best to maintain a dignified stance, but it was apparent that it was a façade, much like the UNSC's diplomatic arm. Carson narrowed his eyes, the Pelican's engines behind them dying down as the pilot switched them off. As they whirred down, the general quietness of the desert region became apparent. A gentle and warm breeze wafted across the dry lakebed, and somewhere distant came the howl of a wild animal. Likely an _orjakthun_ , a vaguely wolf-like desert creature with a thick hide and a carnivorous appetite, granted its name by some of the original settlers who had come from as a far as Norway. The desert creature was a scavenger by nature, but it was not unheard of for packs to go after humans, especially if said pack outnumbered the humans in question.

The Ambassador looked understandably nervous, and Carson reached out one hand to the soldier standing on his right. The soldier handed him a retractable shovel, and with a flick of a button the shovel extended to its full length. Carson took it in his hand, and then held it out to the Ambassador. The middle-aged bureaucrat looked upon it with confusion, and Carson simply offered him the slightest of grins.

"How tall are you?" He asked.

"What?" The Ambassador's confusion amped up some more then.

"I'd say you're about five feet and eleven inches." He continued holding the handle of the shovel towards the Ambassador. "Which means you should make the hole about six feet and two inches long. It'll give you a little bit of breathing room."

"What?"

"Take the shovel, Ambassador. Time's a wastin'."

With noticeable trepidation, the Ambassador took the shovel. He looked at it, and then towards the Colonel.

"Go on. Start digging. Six feet deep." Carson kept a straight face as he said this, his seriousness only adding to the Ambassador's befuddlement. The man had probably never been treated like this before, and was likely used to being tended to by a staff of sorry underlings who fetched him coffee and wrote his letters for him.

"You can't do this." The Ambassador spoke in a feeble voice that belied his growing fear.

"Sure I can. I can do what I damn well want, Ambassador. Especially to people like you." He took a step closer to the Ambassador, the soldiers around them watching carefully. They would act immediately if the Ambassador tried anything, but Carson knew full well that the diplomat would do nothing. He clearly lacked the guts to save his own life, or at least try to, and seemed content to let himself be pushed around. It was one aspect of the Ambassador's character that made Carson hate him all the more. What kind of man was he, to let himself be treated this way with barely the courage to voice his protests? Apparently all the UNSC's gutsy politicians had been killed during the war.

"I'm a diplomat for the United Nations Space Command. An Ambassador from the United Nations of Earth, sent here to extend the arm of peace…"

"No, you're not. Did they not brief you, Ambassador?" Carson frowned at him. "Did they tell you who I am? Who I really am, or did they just feed you some whitewashed memo with all the good bits blacked out?"

The Ambassador did not reply. Carson took this as his cue to continue speaking.

"Thrace, it's my house. My castle. My land. And do you know what you just did, Ambassador?" Carson kept his cigar held in the fingers of his left hand, letting its burning tip waft smoke into the warm desert air, carried along by the breeze. "You came here and you started telling me what I should be doing with my land, and that I should know my place because I'm just a little tin-pot dictator with his own planet. That I'll get stamped out by the UNSC if I don't toe the line. You came into my house, and you started dictating to me, on behalf of your superiors, what I should be doing. And you outright made me an offer that roughly translates to bending over and getting fucked without a single trace of lube. Well, I'm sorry to say, Ambassador, but I'm not going to bend over. And if anyone's going to be doing the fucking, it'll be me and my friends here." Carson put the cigar to his mouth, inhaling another deep breath, as he let his words sink in and considered what else to add. "The UNSC is clinging on to what little power they have left after the war. They forgot about this world, and the people who were scraping by on it. Before I came along, this place was a dump. It still is, in some ways, but now it's _my_ dump. And I like it, and the people here, they like me. They certainly like me more than the UNSC."

The Ambassador was visibly shaking, out of fear rather than anything else. His hands gripped the shovel tightly, if only because he could think of nothing else to do. Carson offered him another smile, a brief one at that, as he blew smoke into the Ambassador's face.

"You're no more than a tool, Ambassador. A pawn in a game that your bosses are playing because they've suddenly realised that there are planets, like this one, that no longer answer to them and their ways and they don't like it. So they send you here, an insult to me and the people who live here, as if to say: 'Hey, we're still around and we're coming after you.' I don't know what gave your superiors the impression that I would happily hand over more than half of our mining output in exchange for protection." Carson scoffed, and he looked to the four soldiers standing nearby. A couple of them chuckled as well. "Protection from what? The Covenant's gone. And even if those nut-job loyalists show up, we'll be ready for them."

"You can't possibly hold off an alien fleet," the Ambassador said.

"Why would they come here? They didn't come here the first time around, and there's nothing here that'll interest those Storm Covenant loons. Essentially, Ambassador, you were sent here on behalf of the UNSC's 'protection' racket. And I'm not going to be a part of it, and most of the other planets out here, in the ass-end of space, are not going to be a part of it either."

"You can't kill me…"

"I never said I was going to kill you." Carson nodded towards the shovel. "But I would like you to start digging. Right here. Measurements like I said." He waited for the Ambassador to get started, and unsurprisingly the diplomat did nothing. He stood there, stunned, as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. If there was one thing that Carson got a kick out of, it was seeing people like this, arrogant from their positions of authority, get cut down to size.

"Go on. Or I _will_ kill you." He nodded to the soldier standing a short distance from the Ambassador. He raised his rifle, and the Ambassador saw this and swallowed. With sweat dripping down his brow and causing his uniform to stick uncomfortably to his skin, the Ambassador began to dig. It was a slow effort on his part, and he was clearly out of practice when it came to manual labour. Carson had a feeling they would be waiting a long time for him to finish the job, not that he had intended on hanging around.

"I don't need to kill you, Ambassador." Carson tapped out some of the burnt tobacco from the end of his cigar. "This place, it'll do that for me. But for now, continue digging."

"You're a bastard, Carson."

"I'll have you know, my parents married well before I was born." Carson eyed the Ambassador carefully, as he continued to shovel into the dry, cracked ground of the dry lakebed. Piker's Lake, as it was known on the official maps of the region, named after one of the earliest prospectors who had come here and made a living on digging up important ores. A man whom Carson could respect, even if he was long dead, someone who had worked in an environment like this tirelessly and had become successful as a result. Hard work and manual labour was something to be proud of, not like the Ambassador, who had probably gone to some fancy university and had spent most of his life working in an office, nine-to-five, probably longer. Not an ounce of actual honest work done in his life. Politicians like him made Carson sick.

A few minutes passed as the Ambassador continued digging. Carson continued puffing on his cigar, the end of it slowly burning away. The sun rose gradually over the distant hills, and the orjakthuns called from somewhere distant. Each time they called, the Ambassador would look up, his eyes darting about the lakebed.

"Don't worry about them," Carson said, noticing this. "They tend to ignore large groups." He turned to his soldiers. "On that note, I think we'll leave the Ambassador to it."

"What?"

"Again with the 'what'." Carson shook his head, returning his attention to the Ambassador. "You'll be fine." He nodded to one of the soldiers, who threw a plastic bottle of water at the man, where it landed on the sand near his feet. "Keep moving and keep to the shade and you could make some decent distance by nightfall." He motioned to his men to follow, and he started for the Pelican. As they walked after him, the Ambassador dropped the shovel and ran for them, only for the last soldier to turn around and crudely elbow him in the face. This was enough to drop the Ambassador to the ground, his nose bleeding from the blow. Carson looked back at him, as the four soldiers climbed into the Pelican.

"Like I said, Ambassador. If anyone's doing the fucking around here, it's us." He threw his still burning cigar out of the Pelican and at the Ambassador, before he yanked on a lever and caused the rear ramp to start rising. The Ambassador was still on the ground when the Pelican took off, clutching his bleeding nose all the while the calls of the carnivorous local fauna drew nearer. As Carson had said, he did not need to kill the Ambassador. He had a desert to do that for him.

* * *

Thrace had been under the control of the Frontier Colonial Authority, a branch of the UNSC that had enforced the law on several planets in this region of space. The furthest and most removed colonies at that, where even the FCA had needed to bend its own rules in order to properly enforce the disparate, and certainly 'rough-head' nature of the population. They had been an extension of the UNSC like so many other organizations, and the first thing Carson had done when he had come here and gained enough support was to remove them. This had not been difficult, as the FCA had never been very popular to begin with. Most of the FCA officers had happily switched sides, and with the Human-Covenant War raging at that time, many here on Thrace had been confident that UNSC intervention was not going to occur. And it did not, as evidenced by several years of UNSC-free government and prosperous trade with other Outer Colony worlds. Carson had been the one to open such trade deals, using his own unique brand of 'diplomacy' to get the way of the people of Thrace to come first, and to ensure that his planet was not being unfairly screwed over. The arrival of the UNSC diplomat had been a sign, and it was one he had been expecting for some time.

The ride back to town was a quiet one. The Pelican finally arrived at the centre of government for Thrace, a rustic looking estate on the edge of Deckar's Stand, nestled up against a barren, rocky hill. Despite the desert environment, the gardens of the estate were covered with lush green grass and thoroughly maintained and tended garden beds. The building itself resembled an old-fashioned Earth manor, having been originally erected by a wealthy prospector who had sought to recreate something of home on the planet. That prospector was long dead, and his home had passed from one owner to another before finally being converted into Carson's centre of power. Guards patrolled the perimeter and the interior at all times, and a surprisingly elaborate security system was in place utilising surveillance cameras, motion sensors and retinal scanners. It was the kind of thing that was unlikely to be found anywhere else in the town, and the haphazard mix of old-fashioned architecture and modern twenty-sixth century technology provided a contrast that was often to be found on the Outer Colonies.

The Pelican landed on a dedicated landing pad at the rear of the estate. Carson emerged from the craft, flanked by a pair of guards as he started down the steps from the landing pad and into the rear gardens. Here, green hedges lined the footpath leading towards the house's rear, and the resident gardener waved at him as he walked by. The old man, Kingsley, had been here for years and had come with the place when Carson had claimed it for himself. He kept him around, and the old man tended to the gardens in return. The wonders of advanced botanical technology had ensured that the gardens here were as green and lush as any to be found on Earth, and Kingsley was apparently an expert in the field. Getting rid of him would have been a mistake.

As Carson made his way up the rear steps and into the lobby of the air-conditioned house, he was approached by a tall, young man in a desert-coloured uniform. This was Randall Lovell, the man in charge of organizing Carson's day-to-day routine and essentially serving as the man's glorified aide. Carson had figured it best to have someone of the sort work for him, as running a planet was a complicated business, even one with a small population. Randall had been here when Carson had taken over, albeit working as a technician for the FCA. Carson had seen some talent in the young man, enough to put him to work on more engaging business. The decision had paid off, and Randall had proven himself to be an expert organizer.

"Colonel Carson," Randall said, saluting the Colonel as he approached. Carson made his way along the soft, carpeted floor and towards a set of stairs that would take him to the next floor, where he had his office. Randall fell into step alongside him. "How did your talk with the Ambassador go?"

"Fine," Carson replied. "So fine, he won't be bothering us again." Carson and Randall reached the top of the steps and turned a corner into a corridor there. "Anything happen while I was out?"

"That's why I've come to see you," Randall said.

Carson went through a doorway and into his office, a fairly lavish affair that was more or less located smack-bang in the middle of the building. Randall followed him in, as Carson went over to his desk. It was not technically 'his' desk, in much the same way this house had not been his to begin with. Most of what was here had been left by its previous owners, and used by the FCA during their tenure in governing the colony. Granted, Carson had since provided his own personal touches to his office, including display cases at one wall that contained several old, rugged looking firearms that he had acquired from a variety of sources over the years. His desk was a large, brown-wood glazed thing that the original owner had apparently received through special order from one of the Inner Colonies. A computer terminal was here, serving as Carson's personal one, and next to the monitor was an ash-tray and a box of cigars that he himself had acquired through special order. Behind the desk was a large window, currently with the curtains drawn over it. The window itself was another thing Carson had personalized, as he had had the ordinary glass that had been in place originally removed and replaced with a variant that was far thicker than anything available through ordinary sources.

Carson sat down on the chair and turned to face Randall, who had stopped ahead of the desk.

"Something I need to know, Randall?" Carson narrowed his eyes. The diplomat was the first step, this much he knew. Soon enough, the UNSC would start prying into his business here with increasing tenacity, and he may very well have a fight on his hands. That was the worst case scenario, really, and he doubted the UNSC would risk another civil war by launching a full-scale invasion of an Outer Colony world. Every other colony out here would be up in arms if something like that happened.

"It's about what happened last night, in town," Randall said. "Looks like your people weren't jumped by some rivals. They were ambushed by some UNSC operatives."

"Of course they were." Carson's mood immediately soured when he heard this. "They caught wind of the deal and they stopped it. They also shot up an entire restaurant full of civilians to do it. I shouldn't be surprised." He put a hand to the metal cigar case on the desk, tapping his fingers upon it absently.

"There's more to it than that, Colonel."

"There always is."

"Eyewitness reports have been compiled over the last several hours. It looks like it wasn't any ordinary UNSC operation. People have reported seeing a woman take down our people who were there. She was said to be in her late thirties, maybe early forties, and strangely tall and muscular."

Carson pushed open the cover of the cigar case. He looked at the seven expensive cigars lined up inside and considered having another one, but he closed it again and thought it best to save them for when he was in a better mood.

"Strangely tall and muscular, you say?" Carson had a feeling he knew what that meant. "Are those your words, or those of the people who made the reports?"

"Not my words, sir. People who were there and saw her have reported the same kind of thing. This woman was someone who was apparently capable of wiping out a small group of our boys without breaking a sweat. A woman, but one with a borderline bodybuilder physique."

"Of course." Carson let out a resigned sigh. He had thought that maybe the UNSC would not trouble itself with Thrace, certainly not to the extent that they would send a Spartan here to cause trouble. "Do we know where she is now?"

"No. The restaurant was cleaned up pretty quick. Only our guys, dead as they were, were left behind along with the dead civilians. Any trace of UNSC involvement was gone."

"The Office of Naval Intelligence. They did it, I can almost guarantee that." Carson mulled over this for a moment. ONI was just the organization to concern itself with the affairs of a backwater colony world. They were also the kind who would brazenly launch an operation like the one that had happened the night before, and they were also more than capable of cleaning up whatever mess they made in an alarmingly quick timeframe. "If they're here, and they're doing shit like that, then there's going to be a whole lot more trouble. Question is, why here? Why Thrace?"

"ONI, sir?"

"Spooks, really. Black ops. And it looks like they've sent us a Spartan. I wonder how she feels, working for them?" Carson scratched at his chin. From a drawer at his left, he produced a glass pitcher of liquor, specifically a brand of whiskey that had been part of a shipment from Earth that the FCA had confiscated prior to his takeover. They had left it all in the basement, along with numerous other things they had taken from their rightful owners, and Carson was always pleased to help himself to these things. He poured a glass of the slightly brown liquid, swilling it about as he considered the matter at hand. ONI and a Spartan, it was a combination bound to cause trouble. It already had, really, but he knew full well that a shootout in a restaurant was child's play compared to whatever ONI had planned for the near future.

"Randall, get on the horn to our friends along the frontier. Find out what they know." Carson gulped down the small glass's worth of expensive liquor. "I doubt we're the only ones having trouble with the spooks out here. And I send out word to our guys to keep an eye out for this Spartan. Do we have a photo of her?"

"No, Colonel. A few descriptions, but they aren't reliable since most of the eyewitnesses were busy fleeing the scene in terror."

"Naturally. Regardless, we need the men to be alert. A Spartan is hard to miss, even without their armour." There was a pause, as Carson considered the implications. An ONI intrusion was practically an insult, one against him and one against the people here as a whole. It was further proof that the UNSC cared little for them, and only cared for what they could gain from the people here. Strong-arm tactics had been the UNSC's main means of getting what they want for decades. Even after the war that had resulted in billions upon billions dead, the UNSC still had to revert to their old ways. When humans and aliens were no longer killing each other, it appeared that now it was back to the good old days of humans killing humans. Any unity the war and the common enemy had brought was already gone. Carson had seen it coming, and he had been preparing Thrace for this eventuality during his years here.

"We need to be on high alert now, Randall." Carson rose to his feet and moved over to the window. Here, sunlight was streaming through the narrow gap between the curtains, and he pulled one aside to look out upon the garden below. "The trouble's only starting."


	4. The Patriot

**Note:** This chapter may seem out of place, but I am simply establishing the major players.

* * *

 **The Patriot**

Sanghelios was a world of mountains and tropical seas, of tall mesas and crystal blue oceans. Many of the native inhabitants had lived in the tropical wetlands that dotted the planet, and these had served as the cradle of Sangheili civilisation until the increasing population had taken them into the harsher desert environments deeper inland. Over the many thousands of years of Sangheili civilisation, grand structures had been erected in the deserts, filling the entirety of mountains with statues fifty feet tall. Many such structures were old and in ruins now, and the Sangheili had taken to living within various city-sized keeps that dotted the landscape of the planet. And it was these keeps that had served as states in themselves, and often these states had entered into conflict with one another for a variety of reasons over the planet's long and bloody history. The Sangheili were warlike by default, and had evolved in harsh environments that had granted them powerful bodies and the knowledge to make war very effectively.

In this latest chapter of Sangheili history, war had embroiled much of the planet. Civil war between those who followed the Arbiter, a figure who had since become legendary for his deeds in the war with the humans and then the Jiralhanae and the Prophets; and those who remained loyal to the Covenant and still believed in the old gods, the Forerunners. It was a civil war that had become very bloody very quickly, and entire keeps had been destroyed during the battles that raged across the planet's surface.

One such keep was located in one of the planet's more temperate regions, where the land was rocky and mountainous, but also dotted with much greenery. The keep itself was a vast stone structure located upon a rocky plateau, with open ground on all sides and a single gravel road that lead to its main entrance. The stone walls that surrounded it were thirty feet in height, and they made their way all around the vast collection of stone buildings that was practically a town in itself. Guard towers and spires jutted from above, but even from a distance it was apparent that something was wrong. Smoke poured from within the city-state, and parts of the walls had been torn down with the unmistakable traces of heavy plasma weaponry. The main gate was gone, both halves lying half-buried in the sand. There was little sign of life from within, the keep serving as a stark reminder of the cost of the civil war that had consumed much of the planet.

The sun above hung at a low point, and the sky had turned the deep orange of dusk as the day drew to an end. Walking alone, following the main gravel road towards the keep, was a lone Sangheili in the mostly white armour of a Sangheili Ranger, although his helmet was gone, as was the jetpack that came standard to those within the Rangers. The eyes set into his saurian and somewhat hunched head were an emerald green in colour, and they regarded the ruined keep ahead with weariness, and resignation. It had been many months since he had last been home, and during his last visit he had been witness to the battle that had cost the lives of almost all the warriors of his clan. Even the women and children had not been spared, and only a handful of the 'Ktham clan had lived.

Davam 'Ktham had been a warrior for much of his life. Like most males of his species, he had been trained to fight from a young age, and he had been sent to fight for the Covenant as soon as he had been deemed ready. It had been several years before he had volunteered for the Rangers, one of the most dangerous branches of the Covenant military. Fighting in the vacuum of space and using potentially dangerous jet-booster technology was something reserved for only those willing to do it. And Davam had volunteered through a sense of duty, and for the potential prestige such a role would grant him. Nonetheless, recent years had been hard, even more so since it had become apparent that the Covenant religion had been a lie. A lie he had fought for, one he had spent so very many years fighting for. He still remembered what it had been like, during those early days after the Covenant's dissolution, when it had seemed the very heart of society on Sanghelios had been torn out. The fighting had started not long after, gradually intensifying to the point that just about every clan on the planet (and by extension, the many colonies the Sangheili had established) had become involved. The 'Ktham clan had been divided, not that it had mattered in the end. Davam had tried to be the voice of reason for the bickering leaders of the keep, but in the end it had been outside forces who had finally brought an end to the clan.

He stepped on through to the keep's grounds. Here, many of the houses were in ruins, burnt out shells that had once been home to families, many of whom Davam had known. The central structure, from where the keep's leader, the kaidon, had lead, was a similarly empty shell. It had been set alight from within, and the leadership of the keep slaughtered. Davam was not interested in revisiting such a site, rather he headed for the temple at the far end of the keep, the place he had spent many days sitting and pondering, reading even. A warrior did not just fight, as his instructors had taught him when he had been young. They had to be knowledgeable too, as in the end the greatest weapon a warrior had at their disposal was their mind. Strength and speed was one thing, but to outsmart one's enemies was vital. A somewhat different philosophy compared to other clans, but it was the philosophy that had ensured the clan's survival for many generations.

The temple was a large stone structure, vaguely pyramid-shaped, resembling one of the many ancient Forerunner structures that dotted the planet's surface. It was appropriate, given how the Forerunners had once been perceived by many Sangheili, and Davam made his way down the steps into the partially underground temple. The corridor beyond the main entrance was illuminated by burning torches, and the worship area itself at the end of it was a large, open chamber adorned with statues of the clan's past greatest warriors, including one ancestor of Davam's who had once been an Arbiter long before the Covenant had been created. It was a place of history, and oddly enough much of it appeared to be in relatively good condition, as if those who had seen to end the 'Ktham clan had neglected to ransack the temple. Either that, or they had respected the temple enough to leave it be. Davam sorely doubted the latter possibility.

No, there was something more here. He walked down the central aisle between the rows of wooden seats, his gaze going to the statues. Some had been clearly patched together, whereas others that should have been present were gone. At the far end of the hall, amongst numerous burning torches and candles, was a shining silver column of sorts. A Forerunner artefact, one that had served as the focal point for worship within the temple. It had been here for generations, and despite this very few knew of its exact purpose. It emanated a blue-white glow, and Davam had once worshipped it and what it represented like so many others. Now, it was little more than an ancient power core of some variety, and it lacked any of the mysticism that it had once carried. Even so, he sat down on a seat before it and the altar, and he gazed into the swirling energy within its core. Something like this, that had been powered for thousands upon thousands of years, was worthy of at least some wonder. The Forerunners may not have been gods, but they had certainly been capable of constructing some genuine wonders. What had they been like, really? Had they been family oriented? Or so alien as to lack that kind of connection to others? If the rumours were true, then the humans knew more about the Forerunners than most races. At least, their military knew more than it let on.

Davam sat here for a few minutes, his mind wandering. He had come here for a purpose, a simple one at that. He needed to remind himself why he continued to fight, and of whom deserved his wrath. The attack on the keep had not been a random act, and the one who had lead it was still alive and out there, in the galaxy somewhere. The so-called 'Storm' Covenant continued to gain support, and atrocities like the one that had occurred here would become more commonplace as a result. Davam knew his purpose now, as one of the instruments who would bring this new form of Covenant to its end. He needed to do something worthwhile, if only to atone for the atrocities he himself had had a hand in. So many innocent lives taken, all in the name of a false religion.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed and he was on his feet within seconds, swivelling around with one hand going for the energy blade he wore at his waist. Clutching it, he withdrew the weapon, activating it and causing the twin-pronged blue-white blade to appear before him. The ends of both prongs found their way mere centimetres from the throat of the Sangheili who had approached him from behind.

This one was young, likely less than half of Davam's age. He was about the same height, and his eyes were of the same shining green colour. He was dressed in dirty light-blue armour, that of a warrior-in-training, and it seemed unlikely that this young one had even finished his training to become a soldier. Judging from his generally dirty, dishevelled look, he had been without the typical luxuries for some time. His eyes had widened slightly, and he looked into Davam's own with an anxious, yet innocent, gaze.

"Ranger Davam?" His face flashed with recognition. Davam narrowed his eyes and considered who this may be. He held the blade where it was, even though in his hearts he could feel that this young male was no threat to him. He did not visibly carry a weapon, and it seemed likely he had not meant to sneak up upon his senior the way he had done so.

"You should know better than to surprise a warrior in such a way," Davam said, his voice level.

"I did not mean to." The young male held up one hand slowly, and pointed a finger to the Ranger's sword. "I will not hurt you, if that's what you believe I'm here for."

Davam deactivated the energy sword, its blades disappearing into the hilt. He placed the weapon back upon the armour at his thigh, and regarded the visitor curiously. There was something familiar about this one, but he could not place the face, or the scent for that matter.

"What is your name?" Davam asked.

"Narsa. Narsa 'Ktham. I lived here, much like you did." Narsa lowered his hand and relaxed slightly. Davam got the sense that the young male spoke the truth. The look in his eyes suggested as much. Eyes that struck Davam as eerily familiar, if only because they were _his_ eyes. It was almost like looking into a mirror, had he been decades younger. Of course, he kept his suspicions as to why this was to himself, even if Narsa likely saw the same thing and was probably already coming to the same conclusion. Granted, many children on Sanghelios were unaware of who exactly their fathers were, given the communal nature of their upbringing. Still, there was no denying physical resemblance.

"You still live here?" Davam asked.

"Yes. The only one."

Davam frowned.

"Why? There is nothing left here." The Ranger tilted his head slightly, as he tried to work Narsa out. There had to be a good reason why he had not left the ruined keep. It was a place of death now, without the kind of peaceful atmosphere it had had in the past, when the grounds had been filled with the activity of those who had lived here. No children played outside anymore.

"There is nowhere else for me to go." Narsa sounded unsure of himself. He was not a full-fledged warrior, indeed it was likely he had still been in training when the attack on the keep had occurred. Still, he had somehow survived, as had Davam.

"There must be friendly keeps…"

"I do not wish to traverse the deserts and take my chances with other clans," Narsa said. "And I do not wish to fall into the company of those who are sympathetic to the new Covenant."

"So you stay here? Alone?" That was no way to live.

"There is enough food stored here for many months, and I know how to hunt. I even cleaned up the inside of the temple." He motioned to the surrounding chamber. "We cannot let our history be destroyed." He paused for a moment. Davam had to admit, there was something noble in attempting to preserve the temple here. Still, it seemed misguided, staying here. By staying here, Narsa kept himself out of the war that had broken out upon their home-world. Was that why he stayed? Davam did not ask this aloud.

"Why did you come back, Ranger?" A valid question. Narsa watched him carefully. Again, it was a look Davam had seen many times before, when gazing into a mirror. There was no doubt in his mind that Narsa was his son.

"I seek guidance," Davam replied. "The Forerunners may not be the gods they were made out to be by the Prophets, but I knew that coming back here may help me to find my way. There is a war, Narsa, and it engulfs our world ever so gradually. After what happened here, I knew what side to take in it. As you should as well."

"I am no warrior…"

"But you were clearly being trained as one." Davam turned around and walked up to the Forerunner artefact. Stories abounded concerning its properties, and it had been said that gazing into it for long enough could provide one with visions that were sent to give spiritual guidance. Stories were often just that, stories, yet even Davam could not help but think there was a grain of truth to it. Gods or not, the Forerunners had been capable of wonders.

"What are you suggesting, Ranger?" Narsa watched him, as the veteran Ranger stared into the shimmering pillar of energy contained within the Forerunner construct.

"Suggesting? Hardly." Davam put a hand to the artefact, and he felt a warm tingle pass through his arm. Usually only the priests were allowed to handle such artefacts. Of course, that had been when the Covenant religion had counted for something. "I intend on _doing_. Suggestions are what politicians do." He took his hand away from the artefact and looked back at Narsa. "You would do well to follow me, acolyte."

"Follow you? To where?"

"Wherever our journey takes us." Davam already had a plan in mind. He simply had to gauge this young warrior for the kind of man he was. "We are the last of our clan. It is our duty to seek vengeance against those who wronged us. Against those who destroyed our home and murdered our warriors, our women and our children."

Narsa did not reply. He likely found such a prospect daunting, yet what Davam said was true. There were old tales of clans being brought close to complete eradication by their enemies. In nearly all of them, the few survivors who remained made it their mission to enact revenge against those who aimed to destroy them. More often than not they died trying, facing insurmountable odds, something that Davam had long since come to terms with. There was nothing particularly noble about death, rather the nobility came from the cause that one died for. For years he had fought for a false cause, and he sought to make up for that through something genuine.

"The one who lead the attack against us," Davam said. "I have spent the last several months attempting to find him. I believe I am close."

"You're going to kill him?"

"It is the least I could do." Davam had set himself on this path once he had left the keep after surviving the attack. The trail had gone cold a few times between then and now. Still, he had searched, and his journey had taken him throughout Sangheili space and to many of their colonies. He knew he was close, and returning here served to remind him of why he had set off on this journey to begin with. The odds he faced were considerable, as the one who had lead the attack had a sizeable force at his disposal, yet even when Davam thought about this he felt nothing but determination to see it through. One last thing to do, and something he knew he could very well die doing. A proper cause to fight for, rather than the false one the Covenant had represented.

"And you want my help?"

"I want your help because you and I are of the same clan," Davam replied. "You cannot continue to live here, by yourself. This keep may have once been our home, but now it is little more than a place of death. A reminder of what we must do, so that our bloodline does not vanish into the night as was intended by those who attacked us. You were there, during the battle, were you not?"

Narsa nodded his head slowly. There was some hesitation there. Davam chose to ignore it. Even if Narsa was a coward, he could at least prove himself a warrior by joining him on his mission and therefore negate whatever cowardly acts he may have committed in the past. Narsa was only young, he had likely never seen battle before the attack had occurred. There was some understanding to be had there, and even Davam could remember what his first taste of combat had been like.

"It was hardly a battle," Davam added. "More of a slaughter. We were caught by surprise, and attacked without honour. All the more reason for us to find those responsible."

"And you know where they are?" Narsa sounded doubtful. Had Davam been younger, he might have slapped the young male for his tone.

"I am close."

"How close?"

"Does it matter? Surely coming with me would be better than staying here?" Davam could see that the young male was uncertain. Conflicted, as if he knew what choice he had to make, yet did not want to admit to it. "The two of us will have a far greater chance of finding the one responsible."

"Perhaps. But who will look after the temple?" Narsa sounded genuinely concerned. He had been here a while, it seemed, and he had no doubt developed a connection to the temple he had cleaned up.

"It will look after itself," Davam replied. "This place is dead, Narsa. It is best you come with me. I can finish your training and make you into a proper warrior." It would not be the first time he had trained someone, and like most males of the keep, he instructed the youngsters on how to fight, passing his knowledge onto the next generation. "I know you grew up here. I did as well. But there is little left for us here."

Narsa seemed to consider this. He spent a long moment mulling over what had been said, leaving Davam to wait for his answer. Whatever Narsa's decision, Davam would respect it. Still, he did not wish to leave the young warrior here. It was not something that would sit well with him.

"I will come," Narsa said, finally. "Let me collect my belongings. I take it you have a ship?"

"Indeed." Davam watched as Narsa started for the way out. He followed after him, curious to see what kind of life the young male had managed to make for himself here. They re-emerged into the open courtyard outside the temple, before Narsa headed for the central stone structure. It was the most intact part of the keep, aside from the temple, and it was not surprising that he had made himself a home within it. Davam followed him into the stone corridors, all the way to the kaidon's quarters. Here, Narsa had made the place his own, and a messy place at that, with tools and weapons lying about the place with little regard for actual organization. The kaidon's quarters had once been luxurious, at least for a Sangheili, but since Narsa had taken up residence the place had gained a very 'lived-in' quality. It resembled more a typical youngster's bedroom than that of a leader.

"You look displeased," Narsa said, as he went over to a table. There, he fetched a sack, and promptly opened it up.

"This was the home of a great warrior," Davam replied. "And you have gone and made it your own." He was not upset, there was little point in allowing himself to become so. Still, he thought that even someone like Narsa would pay better respects to a now dead leader. He wondered, briefly, how he might have fared had he been living like Narsa had the past several months. It occurred to him that the place would have ended up much the same way, albeit with slightly better organization to the apparent mess. Narsa seemed to have no trouble finding what he wanted, and he had begun placing clothes and other belongings into the sack. One thing caught Davam's eye that the Ranger went over and snatched up from a table.

It was a small wooden carving, finely detailed and no doubt made by a skilled hand. It was of an Arbiter, and this was made clear with the elaborate armour it was. Presumably, it was a general representation of one rather than any particular Arbiter in particular.

"My mother made that for me," Narsa said. He snatched the carving from Davam's hand, causing the Ranger to narrow his eyes. The young male certainly had some courage to him.

"She did a very fine job," Davam said, somewhat more solemnly now. If he was correct with his conclusion about Narsa, than the boy's mother was indeed skilled. She would be among the dead of the clan, even if Davam himself had not seen her die during the attack.

Narsa placed it into the sack with the rest of his belongings, before he tied it closed and hefted it over one shoulder.

"I have what I need." He had since attached a plasma pistol to the armour at his thigh. There were other weapons lying about the room, although at a glance it appeared that most were without charge, or close to running out of it. "Lead the way, Ranger."

Davam nodded in acknowledgement and made his way out of the room. Narsa followed, slower than his normal pace, and he was looking about the corridors on their way out. One final look at his home, and the walls he had known for some time. Outside, he became even more morose, yet he kept following after Davam, who wasted no time in his departure. Davam knew how the young male was feeling, and he knew that it would have been difficult to continue placing one foot in front of the other, to make the decision to leave on such short notice. Narsa had likely never been beyond the keep's walls, yet if this was true he did not display any anxiety in his face or movements. He simply kept walking in Davam's wake, eyes straight ahead as they passed through the space where the main gate of the keep had once stood.

"How far is your vessel?" Narsa asked, as they emerged onto the gravel trail.

"Not far. The journey between worlds will be significantly longer." Davam glanced back at his son as they walked along. "It will grant us plenty of time to get to know each other."

Narsa did not appear pleased with this, although he did not voice his displeasure. Looking at him now, Davam saw the need for a proper role model, and the months of isolation had clearly taken their toll on Narsa. It occurred to the Ranger then that he had come at the right time, and by giving some purpose for Narsa to fulfil, he may very well have saved the young Sangheili from descending into some kind of depression.

"Who is the one we search for?" Narsa asked, after a few minutes of walking in silence. "What is his name?"

"Arnvar 'Sraom." Davam had had the name burned into his mind for some time. "I have a very good idea of where he will be going next. The journey will do you some good, I believe."

"We'll see." With that, Narsa fell silent again. Davam did not say anything more, and the pair continued on their trek.


	5. The Veteran

**The Veteran**

The ONI safehouse was an appropriately dingy building on the edge of Deckar's Stand, amongst an equally rundown neighbourhood where the less welcome elements of Thrace's society lived. The neighbourhood was known colloquially as 'Bird Town', primarily because it was where the mostly Kig-Yar visitors had taken up residence. Merchants and traders, mainly, renting cheap housing amongst the poor human inhabitants. Amongst the narrow streets, Kig-Yar roamed about, talking to each other in their avian chirps and trills. Fights occasionally broke out between the humans and the alien visitors, and there was even the occasional shooting. Leah hated the place, and she could see why even now, standing at the window of the two-storey safehouse and looking down onto the paved street below.

It was early morning, and so far she was yet to be properly debriefed on what had happened in the restaurant the night before. The Skirmisher, Jak'Talva, had been uncooperative, and was currently locked up in a specially secured unused storeroom in the building while the agents here waited for the pick-up team to arrive. The inside of the safehouse was what one would expect from something cheap and located in a poor neighbourhood, complete with peeling wallpaper and a few broken windows that had since been boarded up to keep out the elements and unwelcome visitors.

Leah was in the main operations room on the second floor, and behind her were a handful of computer terminals, servers and communications equipment. It was all top-of-the-line stuff, and ONI had never skimped when it came to the equipment it put at the disposal of its many operatives. For this operation, there were about three operatives here, four had Hogan still been around. They were just one part of a much grander plan, one that not even Leah knew all the details of. It was ONI's way of ensuring utmost secrecy, by only telling their agents what they needed to know. Compartmentalization, really. If anyone captured Leah or anyone else in this building, none of them would be able to blow the lid on the whole plan.

The lead operative here was a middle-aged man with a greying stubble, currently dressed in a black unmarked uniform that gave him a smart, presentable appearance but did not spell out the fact he worked for ONI. He called himself 'Rickard', and Leah had no idea whether that was his real name or now. Just another thing ONI liked to do to further confuse its own people.

They were in hostile territory, after all. Carson's men patrolled the streets, working as a glorified police force, and the shootout at the restaurant the night before had stirred the hornet's nest that was Carson's colonial militia. Carson had a fair few ex-military people working for him, and he had used Thrace's rich natural resources to make a healthy fortune that he had wisely invested into independent contractors. The man ran the planet like his own kingdom, and Deckar's Stand was the centre of it all.

Leah had fought Insurrectionists in the past. Mostly before the war with the Covenant, and through doing so she had fulfilled the originally intended use for the Spartans. They were heroes now, for their actions during the war, but even less knew of the work they had done to quell the Insurrection on the Outer Colonies. Leah had not expected to end up back in the same kind of work. In a way, she had come full circle.

"Spartan," Rickard called. He carried a slight British accent, Earth-born as he was. Leah closed the curtains over the window and turned around to face him. Rickard was up from whatever it was he had been doing at the computer terminal. "I've sent off your report to Commander Boone. She will certainly have some questions about what happened…"

"What happened shouldn't have happened," Leah interrupted. She kept her voice level, and the emotions she felt about the matter were under careful control. It was something she had mastered a long time ago, like so many Spartans had. "Innocent people died. Operative Hogan died. The results were not worth their cost."

"Jak'Talva is a wanted arms smuggler," Rickard replied. He did not sound especially concerned about the loss of civilian life. "He has been supplying Carson's forces with weapons for some time now. You succeeded in your mission, Spartan Leah. We have him in our custody, and with him gone the Insurrectionist cause here will have suffered a significant blow."

"I do not think it was worth it," Leah reiterated. "I made it clear to Commander Boone that the assignment was likely to be problematic…"

"And your concerns were noted prior to the mission being executed. You should be proud of your work, Spartan Leah." Rickard offered her a friendly smile. It was one Leah saw was not entirely genuine. She may have been a Spartan, and a bit 'out of it' when it came to the social graces, but she knew a fake when she saw it. She had always been wary of ONI spooks, and Rickard was doing little to ease her concerns in this regard.

"The work we do here is crucial," Rickard continued. "The Insurrectionists have succeeded in many places because of the war with the Covenant. We've let them go unchecked for too long."

"I've heard that before, from Commander Boone." Leah narrowed her eyes. "I don't entirely agree. Thrace isn't a shining example of civilisation, but given everything the people here have gone through, it's amazing they've managed to build what they have."

"You sound like you admire them."

"I admire the people who choose to live out here," Leah replied. "Colonel Carson, and others like him, deserve to be brought to justice, but as for the civilians here? I can admire them."

"An interesting point of view," Rickard replied. "However, civilian casualties are hard to avoid in this kind of operation. You should know that, Spartan."

"Casualties are avoidable." She had been taught early on that a mission could only go as well as its intel. That the people who carried out the objectives had to be a cohesive unit, and that the information they had to go on had to be as accurate as possible. She had also been taught, as had every other Spartan, that the better the teamwork, the better the intel, the less likely they would run into any 'snags'. And had she been with her original team, had they still been alive, then last night's mission would have gone a lot smoother. ONI's approach to things left much to be desired. They did not care about the people here, that much had become apparent. So far, the only good operative she had met had been Hogan, and he was dead. Another comrade down, just one more to add to the tally of those she had fought alongside winding up dead.

She should have known better, being a Spartan, but years of fighting took its toll on one's mind. For a moment there, she felt a spike of anger, and she clenched her right hand into a fist as she fought the urge to hit the ever-so-smug Rickard. She had to leave, this much she knew, otherwise she would do something she would regret.

"Not all the time." Rickard said, and seemed to leave it at that, as he moved over to one of the other operatives, a young man seated at a communications terminal with a headset on. "Commander Boone's just sent something through." He looked down at the communications terminal. Leah felt like pushing the point, rather than letting the man get away with ending the conversation so suddenly, but something told her not to. She had voiced her dissatisfaction with the way ONI operated in the past, yet none of the spooks seemed to pay any attention to her complaints. Her experience counted for little in their eyes, and it had become more and more apparent that she was here as nothing more than a blunt instrument. A means to get their dirty work done.

"Her personal congratulations on a job well done. She'll be ready to debrief you in three hours, Spartan." He looked back towards her, only to catch a glimpse of her as she departed the room. Three hours gave her enough time to be elsewhere, away from ONI and their increasingly suspicious ways. Leah was not sure what she had been thinking when agreeing to work for them, aside from the fact that she had not been doing much else beforehand.

Rickard did not seem to be too concerned about her departure.

"Be sure to be back here in three hours time, Spartan!"

* * *

As she had expected, the house she had sought out was a small, very rudimentary affair located just outside of town. A gravel road lead its way up to here, winding between and over a series of rocky hills covered in patches of dry vegetation. The house was shaped like a rectangular box, constructed from mostly metal and weatherboards, with a worn-out front porch. There was no fence around it, and it was so far the only house in this particular area.

Leah brought her Warthog to a halt outside of the building. ONI had been kind enough to provide her with a means of transport during her stay on Thrace, a yellow civilian Warthog with four seats and no weapons. It handled like any other Warthog she had driven in the past, perhaps even better as it lacked the weight of a gun on the back. She killed the engine and climbed out, wondering briefly if she had come to the right place.

There was an old all-terrain vehicle here, covered in a thick layer of dust and sand. The shutters were drawn over the windows and several empty bottles of booze lay discarded across the front porch. Leah took a few steps towards the house, getting the impression that she was being watched. The owner was certainly home, this much was apparent.

"Hello?" Leah called, looking about the vicinity. A gentle breeze wafted around her, kicking up the sand at her feet. "Anybody here?" There was no immediate response. She thought that maybe she was wasting her time, and that she would be best off leaving. Still, she did not give up right away. She had come out here for a reason, and she certainly did not want the trip to have been a waste of time. She supposed she should have expected there to be no one here, or at least no one who wanted to talk to her.

Nonetheless, she made her way to the front door, her booted feed clunking on the wooden porch. She knocked upon the security door a few times, the noise reverberating throughout the inside of the house. Finally, she heard footsteps from the other side. The interior door swung open and through the security screen she could make out the form of a tall, broad-shouldered and ageing man with a grizzled look about him, dressed in a khaki set of clothing and a cap with the crest of the UNSC Marines emblazoned upon it. For a moment, the man regarded her through the screen with a scrutinising look, only for a smile to slowly creep upon his face as recognition set in.

"Now this is a pleasant surprise," the man said. "First visitor I've had in a while. And it's someone I know." He smiled at her, and unlocked the security door before opening it. "You want to come in?"

"Sure." Leah relaxed a little. She had not been sure what to expect, if anything at all. The grizzled old Marine allowed her into the fairly modest home, a narrow hallway going down its length with a living room to her right and a kitchen to her left. The place had an almost cosy feel to it, despite the mess here and there. The living room was only small, with about three sofas and a table in between them all, with the television at the wall.

"Take a seat, I'll fetch you something to drink." The old Marine turned to her as he closed the door. He seemed to do a double-take, as if he could not entirely believe that she was here. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"Fate has a funny way of doing things." Leah stepped into the living room, finding the room had an odd 'lived-in' look to it. This actually gave it an appeal that her usual kind of accommodations never really had, as she had spent much of her life moving from one set of barracks to another, or in living quarters on a ship. They had all been fairly sterile, utilitarian environments containing only the basic necessities. This little home actually felt like a _home_ , and it was just another reminder of how removed Leah was from living a 'normal' life.

"Screw fate," the old Marine replied. "What do you want to drink? I know you don't touch beer…"

"Water will do."

"Of course." He went over into the kitchen and promptly poured a glass of water straight from the tap. He got himself a bottle of beer, likely one of many he had stored away in his house. With that done, he brought himself into the living room, and he handed Leah the glass of mostly cold water.

"How long's it been since we last saw each other?" The Marine asked. He frowned as he thought over the question, but Leah was quick on the answer.

"About five years. Four, really. During the invasion of Earth."

"And who could forget that?" The Marine popped the top off of his bottle of beer and took a seat on one of the sofas. Leah, as awkward as it felt, sat down in the sofa across from him, with the table between them. Spartans did not often pay visits to old friends, and most did not have any 'old friends' to begin with, at least in the traditional sense. They had superior officers, commanders, fellow comrades, even fellow Spartans. And Leah may very well have paid such people a visit, if they had still been alive.

"I don't think anyone could, Sergeant." Leah took a sip of the water. It was surprisingly fresh, and had a better quality to it than the stuff that came out of the taps back at the ONI safehouse.

"Sergeant? I'm not in the Marines anymore. You still a Senior Chief Petty Officer? Or have you been promoted?"

"No promotion yet, I'm afraid." Leah sat back in the chair. It was a heavily cushioned one, and she could almost feel herself slowly sinking into it. "Not that it matters so much."

"You're a Spartan. People practically worship you folks." The Marine took a heavy gulp of his beer. Leah nodded her head in agreement, even if she did not entirely believe it.

"No one's gone down on their knees around me." Leah spoke drily, and she wondered where the hero worship thing came from. She had hardly seen it herself, save for being amongst UNSC personnel. People tended to stare her way when she was on a UNSC vessel, and occasionally they would approach her, but it was hardly the celebrity status the old veteran was making it out to be.

Staff Sergeant Nolan Nolte was a man in his fifties, and his face was weathered with age and covered in greying stubble. The hair under his cap was similarly grey, and his body bore the scars gained from years of fighting. The khakis he wore were very much military issue, albeit worn out and unmarked. Nolte had a weary look about him, especially in his eyes, which had likely seen far more than most. Leah could certainly empathise, especially since she often saw the very same look in her eyes when she gazed into a mirror.

"What the hell's brought you this far from Earth?" Nolte asked. He spoke bluntly, and he had never been afraid to speak his mind, from what Leah could recall of their time fighting together on Earth. Both had been there for the Covenant invasion, Nolte because he had been stationed in North Africa when the Prophet of Regret's incursion force had broken through Earth's defences; Leah because she had been undergoing treatment for injuries picked up on a prior mission, and had luckily been on the verge of full recovery when the Covenant had landed. The fighting had engulfed much of the globe and had gone on for several months, before the war had been brought to a close.

"I could ask you the same question," Leah replied.

"And you'd be well within your rights to." Nolte put the bottle of beer down upon the table, and he seemed to consider his response. "I'll tell you right away, Spartan. It's because I wanted to get as far from where the shit happened as I possibly could. I wanted a quiet retirement, and apparently the frontier's pretty quiet these days." Nolte raised a brow, as he had noticed Leah's slight change in expression. The uncertainty that she felt about her purpose here had appeared a bit too clearly, and Nolte had picked up on it.

"Something the matter?"

"You could say that." Leah thought it best to change the subject. However, something told her that there was little point in playing it secretive. She had come here to speak to an old friend, and he was far removed from the rest of the planet to be any serious threat. "You want to know why I'm here?"

"You don't need to tell me if you don't want to." Nolte shrugged.

"I suppose we could spend hours reminiscing instead?"

"We probably could."

Leah paused. Nolte had clearly intended to make Thrace his retirement home. He deserved it, that much was sure, yet here she was actively working to destabilise the planet. The thought created a sinking feeling in her gut, one she normally only ever felt when a mission went awry. That had not been often, although the frequency of such a thing had increased over recent years. It was as if the end of the war with the Covenant had turned everything upside-down, with what was 'normal' to her being thrown aside in favour of something much less straightforward and significantly more complicated.

"Maybe one day I could retire to a place like this," Leah said, even if she did not believe it.

"Spartans can retire?" Nolte sounded surprised. Leah nodded her head slowly, despite her doubts.

"I know one who did. Her name was Maria, and she had a family." Leah left out the fact that Maria had been declared 'Missing in Action' during the Covenant invasion of Earth, and it was more than likely that she had been among the many casualties of the fighting there.

"Huh. A family?" Nolte raised one brow. "You thinking of having kids?"

"The thought did cross my mind." Leah would have been lying had she said otherwise. The augmentation process had suppressed those natural urges to some extent, but over time she had found herself thinking of these things more and more. No matter what science had done to enhance her body, it seemed that it could not entirely quell what nature wanted.

"I know that look," Nolte said. "That's the 'I'm feeling sorry for myself' look. Something's on your mind, and that's why you came out to see me, isn't it? You need someone to talk to. And you looked me up because we're old friends. So, enough squirming around the real reason you came." Nolte, with his bluntness again. "Out with it, Senior Chief Petty Officer."

Leah found Nolte's attitude strangely refreshing. Still, she did not feel confident enough to get straight to speaking her mind. For most of her life, she had spoken only when she needed to, and no matter what she had thought of someone else, superior officers in particular, she had kept her opinions to herself.

"I think you're my only friend," Leah said. "You know how many of us Spartans are left, right?"

"Not many."

"A handful, really. I've seen the people I grew up and trained with get whittled down over the years, killed through one way or another. And here I am, still alive. I've been shot, stabbed, burned, electrocuted, punched, kicked and shouted at."

"And you pull through every time." Nolte smiled as he said this. "That's something to be proud of."

"Fighting the Covenant? That was something to be proud of." Leah's normally controlled tone had started to take on a more passionate edge. She was letting her emotions get the better of her, and for the first time in a while her usual Spartan-level of control was starting to slip. No matter what they had done to make her into the killing machine she had been intended to become, they could not entirely get rid of her humanity. "But Nolte, I'm here on Thrace doing things that I normally wouldn't have done. I don't know if you keep up with the news, but last night…"

"I heard it over the radio," Nolte interrupted. His smile faded, and his brown eyes narrowed. "A bunch of people got killed when some maniacs shot up a restaurant."

"That was an arms smuggler bust."

"You were there?"

Leah nodded her head in reply.

"I take it something went wrong?" Nolte picked up his beer and took another gulp's worth from it.

"The intel I had to go on was off," Leah said. "The people in charge underestimated how many of them would be there."

"Of who?"

"Carson's people."

"You're messing with the independents?"

"Independents?" Leah frowned. She had a feeling she knew what he meant, yet even so it was still a term she had not heard used in this regard.

"That's what this place is. An independent world from the UNSC. Carson's an independent. He runs this place without any UNSC intervention. I guess it's part of what drew me here." Nolte shrugged as he said this last sentence.

"ONI wants to shut him down."

"And they've made you their foot soldier?" Nolte did not seem too concerned by the fact that she was telling him this. It seemed like a mistake, one that might come back to haunt them both, but at this point Leah was nearing the end of her increasingly stressed tether.

"I think they want to destabilise the entire frontier," Leah said. "I have no problem taking down arms smugglers and terrorists, but there's just something about it all that I don't like."

"Well, shit." Nolte sounded surprised. "You know what's happening right now?"

Leah gave him a funny look. What exactly did he mean?

"You're developing what us human beings call a 'conscience'. All that Spartan conditioning didn't drum it all out of you, thank God." Nolte nodded in approval, and he appeared almost proud of what was happening. Leah, on the other hand, did not feel good whatsoever.

"Just what do you mean?" She asked him.

"You Spartans were bred to be killing machines," Nolte said. "Good little drones who can take a beating and never question orders. I don't have all the details, but I do know that you folks went through some serious shit to become what you are now, all big and strong." He exaggerated a little as he said this part, putting his arms out as if he were posing in a bodybuilding competition. Even when talking serious subjects, Nolte could still inject a bit of humour into the proceedings. "And you, Leah, are finally breaking that conditioning. I think this is a cause worthy of a celebration." He rose from his chair then, all the while Leah felt cold and disconnected. She was talking to him in a way she had never really spoken to anyone before, and Nolte seemed to be having a good old time about it. Maybe it was just the way he was, yet even so Leah felt a little odd.

"I'm going to get another drink," Nolte said, as he turned and left the room.

Leah stood up and followed him into the kitchen. Nolte turned to her as he pulled open his refrigerator, and he narrowed his eyes slightly as if he was unsure of what to make of her.

"So, you want a drink now?" Nolte held up a bottle of beer. Leah shook her head, and instead spoke exactly what was on her mind, for the first time since she could remember. Speaking between one's brothers-in-arms was one thing, and she had shared a few personal words with other Spartans in the past. Now, though, it had been a long time since she had done anything of the sort, and it occurred to her that she had been bottling up far too much of what she felt, all the while plunging headlong into her work. A psychologist would say that this was her way of taking her mind away from things, to become deeply involved in her work as a soldier, and even Leah realised it.

"I feel like I'm being used," Leah said. "I feel like they're using me."

"ONI?"

"Who else?"

"There's a reason they're called 'spooks'." Nolte pulled the top off of the bottle and took a gulp. She wondered just how much of that stuff he drank per day, as judging from the empty bottles littered around the place, it seemed likely he had more than was probably healthy. "I'm not much of a conspiracy theorist, but I'd say that ONI has been behind some of the bad things that have happened in the last fifty years or so. The fact that they're out here, trying to destabilise the frontier, should tell you everything you need to know about them."

"It's all they'd give me."

"What do you mean?"

"The only work I could get." Leah let out a sigh, as she remembered how she had landed in ONI's service. "The war's been over for years now. I guess I thought that'd be the end of it. But without what I do, I don't feel like I've got any purpose. I know it sounds strange…"

"It isn't strange," Nolte countered. "It's normal. You've been fighting bad guys all your life. It's all you know. So you chose to go with ONI so you could continue doing what you do best. Nothing wrong with that." He closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it casually, taking another sip from the beer as he did so.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Nolte shrugged. "I'm glad I retired. As soon as the war ended, that was it. No more life-threatening danger for me. At least, not if I can help it." He absently scratched at the stubble on his chin with one finger.

"Was it a hard decision?"

"Retirement? Hell no." He paused, raising one brow as a thought occurred to him. "You really thinking of retiring?"

"I don't think that they'd let me." Leah did not particularly see ONI letting her retire. Not with what she was. An ordinary person, anyone who was not a Spartan, might have had better luck quitting from ONI. She, on the other hand, was simply too precious a resource to give up.

"Screw them. If you want to quit, you should do it. If your heart is telling you to do something, you go and do it."

Leah did not think it would be so easy. Especially since her mind was not made, and her heart was split in either direction.

"I don't think my heart's settled on any one thing right now," she replied. "I feel like I've still got a part to play."

"I think we've all got a part to play," Nolte said. "Everything happens for a reason, or so they say."

Leah nodded. She could certainly believe that latter part. Coincidences were not something she believed in, not entirely, anyway. She had been trained to anticipate the worst and to be prepared for it, and the best way of doing that was to know what one was getting into. She had been on so-called 'suicide missions' before, especially during the later stages of the war with the Covenant. Missions where she had not been expected to survive, yet with that in mind she had been prepared to die carrying out her objectives. Working with ONI was different. The fate of humanity was not at stake here, only the fate of the UNSC's interests in the frontier. And the UNSC's interests were mainly natural resources. Metals to build ships and weapons, food to supply its massive military. Things that Leah had not thought much about, until recently.

"You got to think for yourself a little bit more, Spartan." Nolte's voice disrupted her train of thought. She looked to him, and saw that he was being sincere. "Like I said, if your heart is telling you one thing but you're doing the opposite, then I'd say you're doing something wrong. You might want to keep working, keep fighting for Earth, but let's face it: the war's over, and the human race is pretty safe right about now. That's why you're out here. The UNSC doesn't need a soldier, it needs a glorified police officer."

"What would you suggest?" So far, all Leah found was that she felt far more conflicted than before. Maybe coming here was a mistake, no matter the Marine veteran's intentions.

Nolte shrugged in reply.

"Like I said, do what you feel is right. And don't think about it too hard." He smiled at her. "I'm talking more _feeling_ , not thinking. That's what makes us human. And it's what proves you're more than a killing machine."

Leah nodded her head in acknowledgement of this. Nolte did have a point, despite her conflicted self. It was the kind of point that would stay with her for some time.


	6. Desert Heat

**Desert Heat**

Jak'Talva was a Skirmisher of twenty-five (relative in human years), from the home-world of T'vao, where his particular subspecies of Kig-Yar hailed. He was also an arms smuggler, and had been since he was eighteen, when he had left home to find himself a better and more exciting way of life. He knew he was a criminal, certainly in the eyes of the humans and the Sangheili, but to many Kig-Yar, a successful criminal like him was practically a folk hero. He liked to think that people needed his services, and indeed there was always demand for guns. With help from some equally criminal friends of his, he had established a healthy supply of arms of both Covenant and human origin, and the planet of Thrace had proven itself a healthy sales location.

Like most of his species, he preferred the great outdoors. It was all the more aggravating, then, to be locked up in a dingy townhouse with a bunch of ruthless human operatives who clearly did not like him. Even now, the one who called himself 'Rickard' was trying to interrogate him, although he apparently acted on orders to minimise damage to the captured arms smuggler and so refrained from hitting him, for now.

"Where do you get your guns?" Rickard was standing on the opposite side of a metal table. Jak'Talva had his hands bound together by a set of metal cuffs, and he was seated in a fairly uncomfortable fold-up chair in a back-room of the townhouse. The walls were grey, the wallpaper peeling and the plaster exposed in places. There was a window, but it had been covered over by a set of sturdy metal bars.

"I found them," Jak'Talva replied. Rickard obviously did not buy the blatant lie, and he leaned over the table towards the Skirmisher's beak-like snout.

"It's best you answer truthfully here and now, with me," he said, his tone level but not without serious intent. "Because when I hand you over to my superiors, they will not treat you with the same level of respect."

"I would like to make a call," Jak'Talva replied. He found this human amusingly uppity, and he made sure to do whatever he could to annoy someone so clearly arrogant. "You humans do have communications devices, right?"

"And who are you going to call?" Rickard asked. "Your mother?"

Jak'Talva frowned at the mention of his mother.

"No. Rather, I would like to make a call to the embassy. Specifically, the Kig-Yar embassy here on Thrace." He offered Rickard his cuffed hands. The man seemed surprised at the mention of an embassy, and for all the intel his people might have been operating on, it was clear that he was very much an alien to this planet. "Yes, there is indeed an embassy for my people here. It comes with having a large minority population. I believe that the ambassador there is on good terms with a certain Colonel Carson."

There was a knock on the door behind the human at that moment. One of his friends came in, and he stepped forwards and leaned close to Rickard's ear before whispering something into it. Jak'Talva strained to listen, and despite his superior hearing he did not pick up on the whole message. It did refer to some kind of 'situation', and that Rickard was required elsewhere. Nodding his head, the human allowed the other man to leave before he turned back to the Skirmisher.

"You're not getting out of this one, birdman," Rickard said, gritting his teeth. "You're going to regret being a smart ass once my superiors get hold of you."

Jak'Talva just smiled at him as he turned and left the room, bearing his pointed white teeth. As soon as Rickard was gone, the Skirmisher resumed his previous activity, which had been sitting still in utter boredom and occasionally tapping his fingers on the metal table. The humans had been kind enough to leave him a bottle of water, but aside from that they left him in the company of himself and no one else. If there was one thing Jak'Talva did not particularly like, it was waiting for long periods. He was an energetic sort, and he needed some kind of stimulation to keep himself entertained. Unfortunately, it appeared that he had nothing more to do here but wait.

* * *

Leah had only just returned to the safehouse after spending about an hour talking with Nolte, when she found herself being almost dragged into the operations room within the building. Rickard was here, talking to someone through his headset, all the while one of the ONI technicians was tapping away at a computer terminal with some urgency. Rickard turned to her as she entered, and he muttered something into his headset once he laid eyes upon her.

"Don't worry, she's here." Rickard took a finger from his ear-piece as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Where have you been?"

"I had lunch," Leah replied. A partial truth, really. Not that any of the spooks here needed to know where she went during her free time. Of course, they probably would _like_ to know. They liked to know everything, really.

"Well, you've come back right when we need you," Rickard replied. "We've intercepted a signal from somewhere in the desert, and we're working on triangulating it right now. A distress signal, by all accounts, directed to Colonel Carson's people."

"A distress signal?"

"Distress call, more exactly. Someone's out there calling for the Colonel's help, on frequencies that the Colonel's people often use. So, we think it would be in our best interests for you to go out there and find out what's going on. A spot of reconnaissance."

Leah nodded. She could go along with this, not that she had much else planned for the day. Aside from a debriefing with Commander Boone, which was unlikely to be an enjoyable experience, she had very much a clean slate. The Commander and Rickard were yet to arrange any further assignments for her, and it seemed likely they would spend some days to come going over whatever information they could get out of the Skirmisher.

"I've got the coordinates now, sir." The technician turned in his chair to Rickard, holding up a piece of paper he had jotted the numbers upon. Rickard looked at them, and then turned his attention to the map upon the wall ahead. It showed all of Deckar's Stand, plus the surrounding desert for a considerable distance. The display changed as Rickard adjusted a few settings on the computer terminal before him, and it zoomed out from the map of the town as he entered in the coordinates. A red circle appeared on a region well beyond the surrounding countryside, perhaps fifty or sixty miles from where they were, yet with the satellite imagery it was apparent that there was a collection of buildings here. All set upon some kind of plateau, from what Leah could see.

"There it is," Rickard announced. "The call for help is vague at best, utilising code phrases we have been unable to decipher. Still, it's an SOS, and you can't mistake those." He turned back to Leah, whose gaze had gone to the map screen. She could see herself going out there, but it would be a fairly lengthy drive, made all the more uncomfortable by the heat.

"Do we know why anyone would be out there?" Leah asked.

"Could be a camp for the Colonel's militia," Rickard replied. He shrugged. "It could be anything, really. By the look of our telemetry here, there are some structures there. Stone ones, sort of like ruins or something. Archaeological, perhaps?" He was simply speculating now. Leah would have liked some more solid information to go on, but she supposed that given the circumstances, she was unlikely to get any. "Go out there, Spartan, and find out what's going on. God only knows what kind of nonsense the Colonel has happening out there. Could be nothing, even. A training exercise gone bad. But it's certainly worth the time to investigate, that much is apparent."

"I'll go and load up," Leah said. She might have considered getting into her armour, but Rickard had made it a point when she had first come here that she would not need it. She was supposed to be keeping a low profile, after all, and going around in her MJOLNIR armour was one way to achieve the exact opposite of that. As such, her armour was back on the ship that had brought her here, and she had spent most of her time here without it.

"Do whatever you need to, Spartan." Rickard glanced back at the map screen. "We'll monitor your progress from here."

Leah nodded in acknowledgement. She turned and left the room then, making her way to the small armoury that the safehouse contained. There were some rifles and shotguns here, mostly standard-issue UNSC equipment, but also among it all were several more rugged looking firearms that were cheap and in surplus, the kind of thing one would find in the hands of Insurrectionists. She took some magazines for her pistol, and selected a BR55 'battle rifle' for herself, before stocking up on magazines for the weapon and taking a set of binoculars as well. It was reconnaissance after all, and if things went well she did not expect to need to start shooting at any point. Still, she did have her misgivings about the sudden situation, and she could not help but develop the feeling that something may indeed go wrong. Who could possibly be out there, in the desert, calling for Colonel Carson's assistance? There were too many questions, not enough answers. She felt like she was going head-first into the unknown, even more so than the operation last night. After all, reconnaissance was reconnaissance, and the whole purpose of it was to find out more of what was going on.

She departed minutes later, as soon as she was satisfied with her equipment. The coordinates from the message were uploaded to the GPS system on her Warthog, and it was a simple matter of driving along the determined path in order to get to where she needed to be. Granted, it would be a long and likely boring drive, although with this in mind she figured she could do with the downtime.

She stowed her rifle against the passenger seat before she climbed into the driver's position and started the engine. By now, the sun was beginning its gradual descent as the afternoon progressed, and there were a few scattered clouds high above that served to alleviate the harsh rays somewhat. Nonetheless, it was a searing hot today like it so often was, and she wondered how well her armour might have coped, containing the kinds of climate control systems it did. As it stood, she had her vest on and a standard, unmarked uniform that was coloured much the same as the desert sand. It fit against her muscular form fairly snugly, and her sweat-slicked skin only ensured that the clothing stuck to parts of her in an uncomfortable manner.

Taking the Warthog from the vacant lot behind the safehouse and onto the main street, she passed a market area in the aptly named neighbourhood of 'Bird Town', where the Kig-Yar had mostly taken up residence. They were hawking all manner of goods on the streets, the savvy traders they were, and one burly looking male Kig-Yar stepped in front of her vehicle as she stopped at an intersection. He tapped a clawed hand on the hood and opened his jacket, revealing the numerous small knives that were contained underneath. Most were curved ceremonial blades of Kig-Yar design, and the alien's yellow eyes regarded the Spartan eagerly.

"You look like you can handle yourself," the Kig-Yar said. "But surely a little extra protection would not hurt?"

Leah hit the horn on her Warthog.

"Get out of here," she said, and the Kig-Yar wandered off, only slightly disappointed. She sent the Warthog moving again, heading onto the main road out of the town, before passing through the thinning outskirts and coming upon the main desert highway. It wound its way across the harsh landscape for some distance, and after several miles it broke off into a number of smaller, gravel strips. Leah took a right, taking herself around a stout rocky hill and further into the barren land that surrounded the town. With the hustle and bustle of the capital behind her, she found the general silence of the surrounding landscape oddly relaxing. Here, she was able to get lost in her thoughts, all the while travelling along a fairly straight stretch of road.

Nolte had made some interesting points. Leah had become little more than a foot soldier for ONI, and the noble cause of defending humanity had given way to something far more disconcerting. She had never trusted spooks, despite the likes of Commander Boone and Rickard being her superiors out here. She knew that it had been ONI who had helped to make her what she was now, and even she found herself split on that. Somewhere, her parents had been left with a clone of their little girl and had been none the wiser. And that clone had died, only a few years after the real Leah had been taken from home. Of course, the details eluded her, ONI had done a good job of burying the dirtier aspects of our origins so even a decorated Spartan-II would have difficulty uncovering them.

She knew she had been bred to do one thing, and to do it well: kill. First it had been Insurrectionists, and then aliens. Now she was back to the former, even if they had changed their names ('independents', 'free worlds', 'sovereign colonies' and so forth). In a way, she had come full circle. Years before, had anyone told her she would be avoiding aliens selling her cheap products on the street, instead of avoiding their plasma fire, she would have laughed. Again, things had a strange way of turning out.

How old was she now? All that time spent in cryo-sleep had thrown her age off. She may have been in her late forties chronologically, but she was technically in her late thirties by this point. Months spent out of action, frozen solid during the long trips between one assignment and the next had essentially made her younger than she really was. Hardly retirement age, despite the growing desire to get out of what she had found herself taking part in. And ONI would not let her go, that much was certain.

The sun above glared down at her, and she pulled a set of sunglasses from a pouch on her vest before slipping them over her eyes. She was not a fan of the heat, despite having trained to put up with such harsh conditions. It was personal preference, and all that time spent on UNSC ships had got her accustomed to the comfortable, temperate conditions such vessels contained. Thrace was a backwater by no stretch of the imagination. It was even listed as such in the official UNSC report, albeit as a 'resource rich backwater' run by a 'military junta' that was lead by a 'traitor'. Colonel Carson was someone Leah had been briefed on prior to coming here, and she had found it curious that Carson had once been an ODST. Somehow, somewhere the man had gone off the rails and deserted. Even those details were sketchy, and ONI seemed to be in the dark as to why a trusted officer in one of the best branches of the UNSC military had decided to become an insurrectionist. Had it been for the power? He did run a planet, after all, one with a sizeable population and a surprisingly well-organized army, containing both former service personnel and well-trained militia people. It was unusual, although this was probably a good thing, as the less people like Colonel Carson and the better off the UNSC was.

Leah drove along in silence, with herself for company. Time and again she had worked alone, especially in more recent years.

One hand floated over to the radio controls on the dashboard. Granted, there was nothing but static across all frequencies, until she finally found one fairly weak signal that was apparently emanating from a small mining settlement not far from her current location. At least now the silence was not as grating, but it did not take her long to change her mind about this.

" _I tell you, my brothers and sisters, that there are things out there that even God himself would like to forget exists. The galaxy, no, the_ universe _is a big place, so mind-bogglingly huge that you cannot possibly tell me that it was made by accident! God made this vast universe, and he sprinkled across it many creatures of many shapes, sizes, creeds and cultures. People ask me, time and again, how can I continue believing when aliens are real? How can the Bible be right, when aliens exist? Did God make them too? Did God make them all in his image? And I tell them,_ of course _I still believe. How could I not? I tell you, brothers and sisters, that the universe was no accident. God is all powerful, so why is it so hard to think that he can take on whatever form he pleases? That he can create whatever he pleases? I'm gonna lay something on you all you may not like to hear…"_

Leah sighed and switched it off. Apparently Thrace, being not only a backwater run by a traitor, was also populated by its fair share of loons.

Sweating in the driver's seat, with the air-conditioning on at full blast, Leah finally neared the coordinates as given to her. The drive itself had taken a fair while, so when she finally brought the Warthog to a halt in the shadow of a rocky hill, she took a moment to gather herself. She took up her rifle, and climbed out of the Warthog, stepping into the searing heat as a gentle breeze kicked up sand around her feet. Beyond the hill would be the mostly open area that corresponded to the coordinates, and behind her was a downhill gravel trail that wound its way down the edge of the desert plateau.

Without her armour, she was without the few things she had come to count on. No motion sensor, and instead she had to rely on one built into the comm-pad she wore at her left wrist. There was no heads-up display either, and she simply had to rely on a mental count and the indicator on the rear of her rifle to tell her how much ammunition she had left. She had spent so much time in her armour that being without it in a potentially dangerous situation felt awkward, although it was something she had been trained for. ONI operators did this sort of thing all the time, often with even less equipment at their disposal, and she was probably carrying more with her than any typical Insurrectionist.

She started to make her way up the hill, climbing over and around the many craggy rocks that it was comprised of. As she neared the other side, she became aware of a distant whining noise, one that she was fairly certain she had heard before. Slowly, she came to the top of the hill, and nestled herself against one of the larger boulders. From there, she brought up her binoculars and gazed across the open ground ahead.

It was a somewhat uneven and open plain that stretched on for some distance. Close to the centre was a series of old stone structures. Old houses, presumably, build out of sandstone and the like. Most of them were rundown and overgrown with what little desert vegetation existed out here. On both sides of the open plain were rocky slopes, and beyond them the desert continued on for as far as the eye could see. Patches of vegetation were here and there, but otherwise the place was certifiably dusty. Despite this, someone had seen fit to try and live here, although the old buildings and the ramshackle nature of them made it clear that this attempt at living had not worked out well. The buildings themselves were clustered closely together and surrounded by a stone wall that had fallen apart in places, making it look more like an old-fashioned fortress than a normal town. It was what was visible over that wall, amongst the buildings, that caught Leah's attention.

Someone had been digging here. A large section of the ground within the walls had been excavated, digging several metres down at a slight incline to where an entrance of some variety had been revealed. It was narrow, constructed out of smooth grey rock, and even from here Leah could see the geometric patterns inscribed on the floor beyond it. An excavation vehicle had been left nearby, and a small portable building was some distance from the entrance, serving as the site office. Behind this, several visibly dead human beings had been piled. This was what caught Leah's attention, other than the curiously artificial entrance way. As for the whining noise, she saw its source right away.

A Covenant Phantom had parked itself not far from the dig site. Its engines were active, despite its idle state, the high-pitched whine audible throughout the clearing. Leah tensed upon seeing this, and she shifted her gaze with the binoculars as she scanned the alien craft and the area surrounding it. An Elite stood near the stationary Phantom, dressed in crimson armour, one arm motioning to a pair of Kig-Yar as they piled the last of the dead archaeological team behind the site office. From what Leah could see, there were two Elites, two Kig-Yar and a handful of Grunts here, only a small token presence at most. Nothing that a Spartan could not handle, but even with this in mind she was still trouble.

How had the Covenant landed here, without being detected? That was a problem in itself. She peered at the crimson-armoured Sangheili, figuring that he was the one in charge here. The big question, of course, was why the Covenant were here. If the people working at this site had been digging for something, it stood to reason that the Covenant were after the same thing. Just what kind of Covenant did these aliens adhere to, anyway? Ever since the war had ended, the Covenant had fallen apart and split into a number of different factions. These aliens could belong to any one of them, even the so-called 'Storm' Covenant that had become a significant threat in recent months.

There was one plus to be gained from this new situation, Leah thought. The Covenant had not come here to destroy the planet, otherwise they would have done just that already. No, they wanted to be a lot more low-key than that, they simply had not counted on anyone here getting a call for help out.

The comm-piece in her left ear beeped and she heard Rickard's voice come through. Leah frowned at the interruption, lowering her binoculars as she put a finger to the device.

" _Spartan Leah, do you read? This is Rickard."_

"I can hear you just fine." Leah kept her voice level and quiet, despite the irritation she felt.

" _Our satellite drone has alerted us to the fact that a sizeable portion of Carson's militia are on their way to the coordinates. Two Pelicans and a handful of land transports, to be more exact. What's your current status?"_

"My current status is that there's a small Covenant presence here," Leah replied. "The arrival of Carson's people will probably start a small war."

" _I'm sorry, Spartan, did you say 'Covenant'?"_

"Some Elites and Grunts, a few Kig-Yar with a Phantom drop-ship. A small patrol, essentially. They've killed the people here and are unaware of my presence. Whatever they're after, it's been partially dug up in some kind of excavation." Leah wanted to know more, and the only way to do that was to head down into the dig site. "I'm going to press on ahead. I should have enough time to get in and find out more, before Carson's forces arrive."

" _Spartan Leah, I suggest you do whatever you intend very quickly. If the Insurrectionists get hold of you…"_

"They won't." She switched off the comm-piece then, preferring to get on with her work without any further interruption. If the Covenant were on Thrace, she wanted to know why. Disengaging the safety on her rifle, she started down the rocky hillside, moving quickly and quietly as she had been trained (and bred) to do.


	7. The Soldier

**The Soldier**

The population of Thrace was centred on one of the larger continents of the planet, one that was mostly barren desert with some patches of forest land towards the equatorial region. Deckar's Stand served as the capital city and main settlement, an urban sprawl that had sprung up around the first space-port constructed on the world by the original settlers. Beyond it, many miles across the desert, were smaller towns, some of which being only a collection of wooden structures centred around a mine or the like. Out here, about fifty miles or so from Deckar's Stand, was one of the mining settlements that had sprung up and been abandoned as soon as the funding had run dry. That, and the people who had once been in charge of the mine had seen fit to close it upon striking upon something buried and very much alien. Such a find had been kept quiet, at least until recently. Somehow, somewhere the Covenant, or one of the many factions it had broken into, had learned of what was buried here and had come with unearthing the secrets underneath the old mining town their one and only goal.

Leah guessed she had about ten minutes, probably less, before the Colonel's people showed up. They were unlikely to charge into the place right away, certainly not once they saw the Covenant were here, so that in turn gave Leah a bit more time to find out what she could. She had so far done a quick survey of the alien patrols here, and there were very few to begin with. They were not expecting anybody to intrude on their little operation, a fact that worked in Leah's favour. The handful of Grunts and Jackals were no problem to a Spartan, and the pair of Elites she had spotted were unlikely to cause her too much trouble, as long as she kept her wits about her. It had been a while since she had needed to kill any aliens, and in a way she felt more comfortable doing just that. A natural response, but a welcome one. And a welcome change to what she had needed to do the night before, at the restaurant, where the collateral damage had been at a degree she had been uncomfortable with.

Climbing down the hill once she was satisfied with what she had seen, she stowed her binoculars and carefully traversed the rocky slope whilst she kept her battle rifle slung over her shoulder. It took her a minute to get down, and she ducked into the desert shrubs here as she watched the Jackal on guard at the crumbling stone wall. There was perhaps thirty metres of open space between her and the wall, plenty of space for a Jackal's sharp eyesight to pick up on her and plant a carbine shot between her eyes. The armour vest she wore was unlikely to fully stop an energy weapon blast, as it had been designed with more kinetic weapons in mind. Taking her battle rifle from over her shoulder, she levelled the weapon and peered through the scope at the bored looking Jackal, who carried a deactivated shield gauntlet at its left arm and seemed more interested in picking the dirt from the claws of its other hand. After a moment, it turned and started further along the perimeter wall, giving Leah the opportunity she needed.

Lowering the rifle, she got up and ran for the wall, crossing the sandy, gravelly ground at a quick pace that only a Spartan would be able to achieve. She put her back to the brown stone wall, and after a quick glance about she started after the oblivious Jackal. He stopped some distance away, kicking at something in the dirt. One of the native desert lizards, Leah saw, and it skittered off as the Jackal shoved it with his foot.

Within seconds the Spartan was behind the alien, and she set her rifle over his head and against his neck before holding it tight against him, choking him. The Jackal let out a ragged gasp as its clawed hands scrambled for the surprise attacker, but it could do little as Leah's superior strength used the rifle to crush the bird-like alien's windpipe. As soon as this was done, she let the Jackal fall to the ground, its neck bruised and blood trailing from its mouth. It would not be getting back up.

She turned and made her way through one of the broken down sections of the wall, overgrown with dry desert grass. Beyond it was a ditch that she took cover within, as another of the Jackals wandered by before going around a small ruined house ahead. Leah moved to the building's rear, before moving to the other side and waiting for the Jackal to pass before her. He did just that, and she reached out and pulled him into her grasp before she plunged the blade of her combat knife into his neck. Purple blood spurted out of the severed artery and the alien gargled away what little remained of its life as she dragged the body to the ditch and rolled it in. With her rifle in one hand for now, she held her combat knife in the other and promptly wiped the alien blood off on one trouser leg. This left a dark purple smear, not that this bothered her.

The Phantom's engines had been switched off, and the Elite in the crimson armour had moved over to the craft's rear. Leah ducked behind a crumbling old house and watched from some distance as a ramp extended from the Phantom and a pair of blue-armoured Elites emerged. Minors, inexperienced recruits really, and they followed their superior to the tunnel entrance. Leah continued watching as the one in charge seemed to consider their options, before going inside with one of the Minors. The other stood guard outside, plasma rifle in hand, while a trio of Grunts patrolled around the dig site. Leah could see that this would be a bit of a problem, as there was no alternate entrance to whatever was underground, and that she would have to get past the one standing watch in a more direct fashion. She could not be certain just how many alien soldiers were on board the Phantom, so starting a fire-fight could easily lead to a situation that went out of control.

Leah moved from the building and across what she figured to have once served as the main street, before taking cover in the shadow of a slightly larger, but still very rundown, structure. Here, she moved into a narrow alley between two of them, and through an empty backlot that had become overgrown with desert grass. There was a car here, albeit one that lacked wheels and was little more than a rusted hulk of metal. From behind this, Leah was able to get a better look into the dig site, which appeared to be a dug-out about forty metres in diameter and twenty deep. It was deeper at one end, where the tunnel entrance had been revealed, and the other end moved downwards at a gentle incline to allow for movement in and out of the dug-out. The Grunts on patrol were nearby, moving along in their typically waddling steps, oblivious to the presence of the Spartan who watched them from nearby. As they went past, Leah rose to her feet, her knife clutched in her left hand as she moved in the wake of the three little aliens. She reached the rearmost one and plunged her knife into the back of the Grunt's skull, killing it instantly. Its two friends turned to her, but they could do little as she pulled the knife free and lunged for the next one, slicing its throat open before the last one let out a terrified squeal. She only needed to jog a few paces to reach the last one, as it turned to try and make a run for it. She grabbed it from behind and stuck her knife in its neck, silencing it before it could make any further noise. With that done, she dropped the dead Grunt to the ground and started towards the excavation site.

At the edge of it, she crouched behind an abandoned digging vehicle and peered around it at the lone Elite standing watch at the tunnel entrance. Shifting her lips slightly, she let out a loud, long whistle. The kind of call she had done many times during training exercises, one that would often be replied to by other Spartans with an appropriately matching call. In this case, the Elite's head perked up, and the alien looked in her general direction as it attempted to discern the source of the noise. Slowly, he started forwards, holding his plasma rifle at the ready as he neared her position. It was a young Elite, judging by its low rank, and it was unlikely to be entirely up to speed with all the tricks humans liked to play in situations like these. A fact that Leah used to her advantage, and she recalled previous experiences with many of these Sangheili 'Minors'. Some would often rush headlong into combat, keen to prove themselves, so it was not surprising that this young warrior walked right into her clutches.

She stepped out from cover as the Elite neared and pounced upon him, knocking the alien to his knees. With a powerful thrust, she stuck the blade of the knife into the alien's neck, severing an artery before the Elite let out a pained grunt. Purple blood spurted from the deep cut, and the alien's hands scrambled for the powerful figure upon him, only for his movements to slow as blood rushed out of him. Leah climbed off of the alien and pushed him with one hand, sending him falling face-first onto the ground where he remained. Dark purple blood pooled around him, and his body twitched a little as his life quite literally rushed out of his body.

Leah sheathed her bloodied blade before starting towards the tunnel entrance. She recognized the Forerunner architecture immediately, as like many Spartans she had visited some Forerunner sites in the past. She knew the way those ancient aliens liked to build things, all elaborate geometric designs and sharp angles, often with blue or orange lights amongst it all. Just about everything that had happened with the Covenant could be traced back to the Forerunners, as it had been that long extinct species who had served as the basis for the Covenant religion, one that had lead the Covenant to wage war upon humanity. In the end, the whole religion had been proven to be a lie, yet it did not surprise Leah in the slightest that there were still plenty of aliens who still believed in it.

The inside of the tunnel was lit by a series of portable lights that the people running the excavation had placed down. Parts of the ceiling had fallen in, but any such blockages had been cleared out during the excavation, allowing for a mostly clear path inside. The tunnel continued down some distance, before emerging into a larger chamber where at least some of the Forerunner lights were still functioning. Most of the chamber was a mess, clogged with rubble from the ceiling which had only been partially cleared. Leah had to step over some chunks of rock as she walked into the room, her rifle raised. One thing at the far end of the room caught her eye, however.

The crimson armoured Elite was over there, as was his young blue-armoured colleague. The one in red was looking over a Forerunner terminal, its holographic display flickering as he tapped his fingers against the mostly unresponsive holographic keys. Neither of them were aware of the Spartan's entry into the room, and Leah thought she ought to rectify that. Had her foes been human, she might have tried talking them into surrendering. Of course, Sangheili were not big on surrender.

As she was about to start shooting, something at the far end of the chamber stirred. Nestled against the wall was a spherical object of some kind, several metres in diameter, with glowing orange lines across its form. However, the sphere remained inert for now.

Like most Spartans, she had been briefed on what had occurred on the Forerunner shield world of Requiem. She had seen images taken by expeditions there, in the wake of what had happened, and she had seen descriptions of a Forerunner 'cryptum'. The sphere at the end looked like a scaled down version of the one that had been found on Requiem, and there was no doubt in her mind that this had been what had brought the Covenant here. Did that mean there was something inside it? Leah's curiosity had certainly been piqued, the only issue being the presence of the two Elites.

She opened fire, hammering the shields of the Elite Major before he was even aware of what was going on. The shields failed under the withering fire, and as he turned to face her he let out an angered roar before a burst of battle rifle rounds caught him in the face. The bottom part of his head disappeared in an explosion of purple chunks, and his Minor colleague turned and opened fire.

Leah ducked behind some of the rubble as plasma bolts shot overhead. She kept low as she moved towards the Forerunner terminal, the Elite Minor sending plasma rifle shots flying in her wake. Leah leaned around the Forerunner terminal and hammered the Elite with battle rifle bursts, emptying what remained in the weapon's magazine as the Elite's shields flared and failed. The Elite Minor began to charge for her and Leah swung her rifle around, bringing it about in a wide arc that sent its butt-end colliding with the Elite's head. The alien stumbled, and she followed up this blow with a kick to its stomach. Pulling her knife with her free-hand, she plunged it into the Elite's chest around its armour chest piece, and the alien let out a huff as the blade pierced one of its hearts. It fell backwards, as Leah pulled the knife free, and the alien landed in a heap before her.

With this done, she stowed the knife and reloaded her rifle as she approached the terminal. Something the Elites had done had brought the sphere to life, and she could almost feel the energy emanating from the object. A red light was blinking on the dysfunctional terminal, and a series of buttons had appeared that glowed orange. Leah felt something in the back of her mind tug her empty hand towards the panel, and without even thinking about what she was doing she began to tap at the keys. Somehow, she knew exactly what buttons to push, as if somewhere deep in her mind the answer had been there the entire time.

The sphere reacted accordingly, as the final necessary command was entered. The side facing into the room began to shift, and an unseen joint began to slowly split open. No light flooded out of the ancient construct, and even the glowing orange lines upon it did not change. Instead, the whole thing slowly opened up with little to no fanfare, revealing a smooth and empty interior. Leah looked towards it, realising that she may have made a serious mistake, playing with Forerunner technology. Nonetheless, she had not been able to prevent herself from doing so.

Her mind was diverted from further thought on the subject, however, when she saw what was lying in the middle of the sphere.

It could only be described as a large, armoured figure. This figure lay spread-eagled on the floor in the middle of the sphere, encased in elaborate blue-grey armour that covered it from head to toe. The armour itself appeared inert, and Leah could easily have imagined the visor glowing with some kind of light. Was this a Forerunner? If so, it must have been long dead. Humanity's one and only encounter with a living Forerunner so far had lead to an entire city on Earth being wiped out, so Leah remained cautious as she approached the motionless being, her rifle raised. Something told her the rifle would do little against the armour the figure wore, but nonetheless she kept it up, more for the feeling of security it gave her than for anything else.

The armoured being did not move. Lying down as it was, she could determine its general form. Bipedal, and bulky, and very tall. Well over seven feet, taller than she would be had she been in her MJOLNIR armour. Each of its hands carried six digits, and its feet appeared to be comprised of two large toes. Coming to a stop near it, Leah knelt by the seemingly dead Forerunner and put a hand to the armour. It was a hard metal, one she could not identify. Her fingers went to the face-plate, and they found a catch of some sort that she pulled on with some effort. Somehow, this Forerunner had been preserved, perhaps because of its armour, Leah did not know. As for the face-plate, this came away with a subdued hiss, and Leah was surprised to see a youthful, if somewhat pale, face looking back at her.

The eyes were closed and the nose was very much non-existent, and instead two narrow slitted nostrils were where one would expect it to be. The skin was a pale blue in colour, and the face she saw before her was very much male. Leah had basic medical training, as did every other Spartan, and with this in mind she put her fingers to one eye before shifting the eyelids apart. The eye behind was slightly upturned, and the iris was a startling blue colour. Leah let the eyelids close again, and she went to the base of the neck to check for a pulse. She was assuming that such a creature would even have one to begin with, but Forerunners did have hearts, and they did have blood, at least according to what she had read. Information was still very sketchy, even after what had occurred with the Didact months before. They still knew so little about the Forerunners in general…

There was a pulse. She could feel it, just under the chin, where she assumed a vein or artery was located. This discovery made her heart skip in her chest, as she quickly realised what it meant. She placed the face-plate back over the youthful male face, and considered her next move. A living Forerunner made for one of the most important discoveries in recent history. At least, that was what she imagined her higher-ups would say about it. A long extinct, hyper-advanced alien race had left its mark across the entire galaxy before vanishing overnight. Of course, she was one of the few who knew why and how they had vanished. Somehow, this Forerunner had lived through it. She could only assume it had something to do with the sphere, and whatever exotic energies it had contained. The Forerunners were certainly advanced, who knew what else they had been capable of?

Leah figured she had only a few minutes before Carson's people showed up. She knew that leaving a living Forerunner here for them to find would be a bad idea, and if anything that would only complicate matters. So instead, she slung her rifle around her shoulder and then grabbed the armoured being under his arms and began to drag him. His size and armour gave him a significant bit of weight, but it was not anything a Spartan could not handle. Leah moved at a fast pace, dragging the Forerunner along as she made her way for the exit and then up the tunnel to the surface.

Some conflicting thoughts buzzed about in her head as she moved. Questions, mostly, some she knew would never get any proper answer. Had the people here on Thrace known about what was buried here? The excavation site certainly suggested so. And had the Covenant known what they would find, or had they simply come here seeking Forerunner artefacts? It was not unheard of for them to do so, and presumably in this case it had been only a small force, hence their complete ignorance to the human settlements dotted across the desert. They had likely wanted to come here, dig up what they could, and then leave whilst keeping their interactions with the humans to a minimum. They simply had not counted on a Spartan being present, or one of the humans here sending out a cry for help.

As for the Forerunner, Leah could only guess as to what he might be like if he ever woke up. Would he be intent on destroying humanity, like a certain other Forerunner had been? Having seen his face, his features had appeared almost youthful compared to what the Didact had looked like. The Didact had been almost monstrous in appearance, yet here, this Forerunner looked as if he were no older than twenty. Again, there was so little they knew about this species…

Leah emerged onto the surface and into the sun, dragging the unconscious ancient alien behind her. Somewhere above, she heard the whine of a Phantom, and in the distance, coming from the east, came another of the Covenant craft. Apparently there had been far more than a 'token' Covenant presence here, and this only spurred Leah to move faster. She was in the middle of a place that would likely become a warzone in short order, as soon as Carson's people arrived.

Getting to the Warthog, hauling along an unconscious armoured alien, did cause her to break out in a sweat. The heat was intense, as it so often was in this barren land, and Leah's uniform clung to her sweat-slicked skin uncomfortably. She was across the open ground around the perimeter wall before the Covenant Phantom moved into position over the ruined town, and she saw, coming from the opposite direction, a pair of Pelicans that closed in on the old mining town as they zoomed in from the west. Her time here was up, and just as well, as she neared her Warthog and lifted the Forerunner so she could pull open the door of the back-seat. Shoving him inside, she left him sprawled along the backseat, cramming his legs in underneath him to better squeeze him into the civilian Warthog's confines. She felt strange doing all this, treating the unconscious ancient alien as if he were luggage, but how could anyone have anticipated such a find? She half-expected him to wake up and start strangling her.

Closing the door once the Forerunner was packed in, she climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Nearby, the pair of Pelican drop-ships, rugged and desert beaten as they were, turned and started to land on a clearing well away from the abandoned mining settlement. As for the second Covenant Phantom, it had started to deposit its passengers via gravity lift into the excavation site. Leah did not stay behind to observe, and instead put the Warthog into gear and sent it racing off into the desert.


	8. Attack Force

**Attack Force**

It was with some surprise that Colonel Carson received word of a Covenant incursion out in the desert, right where the archaeological dig had been. He was on the balcony of the estate that served as both his home and the centre of government here on Thrace, enjoying a high quality cigar when his aide, Randall, came out and handed him the report. The people he had sent to answer the call for help from the people at the excavation had encountered a small Covenant force, and they had, for now, decided it best to hold back until Carson and his associates went over the situation and gave them further orders.

Carson was quick to act, something he had prided himself on ever since taking charge of the colony world. He ordered Randall to arrange transport for him to the old mining town, as he was interested to survey the situation himself before coming to any conclusions. His day had been fairly routine up until that point, and despite the implications that a Covenant incursion brought with it, he found that such an event ought to liven things up a bit. Complicate things, even, given that ONI was trying to stir up trouble in the town.

He did not have to wait long for a Pelican to be available, and as soon as it was ready to leave from the landing pad outside the estate he was aboard, along with several of his more trusted guards. Mercenary types mainly, the best that money could buy, and all loyal to the cause of independence from Earth. Carson knew to be careful who he hired, but so far no shady organizations had tried planting assassins amongst his people. Not yet, anyway, hence him carrying his sidearm wherever he went, along with a combat knife stowed into a sheathe at one boot. He was not a man to take chances, regardless of how many loyal soldiers he surrounded himself with.

The trip out to the desert did not take too long in the Pelican. Carson spent most of that time puffing on his cigar and watching the landscape sweep by from the open rear ramp. His soldiers spoke quietly amongst themselves, but most of the time they maintained a quietness that allowed their superior to think clearly, made all the more important given the situation they were flying towards. Carson had taken an unusual gamble by allowing the archaeologists to start their excavation, as he had hoped that maybe something that these long extinct Forerunners had left behind might be of some use to him. Granted, he had not told the people doing the digging what he intended for anything useful they might have found, but now he could only assume that he had made the right choice in allowing them to dig. The Covenant had landed in the region where the excavation site was located, and this was no coincidence. Everything happened for a reason, a phrase his father had used time and again, between his drunken and violent outbursts.

The Pelican touched down in a clearing some distance from the old mining settlement. It had been a fairly prominent mine prior to Carson's arrival on Thrace, only to close up suddenly at the behest of the local government. They had found something, and the Frontier Colonial Authority had caught wind of this and ordered the mine closed, essentially forcing the miners out of work and causing the company running the mine to abandon the planet. There had been plenty of other wealthy ore deposits on Thrace, and the money made from these provided Carson the kind of wealth he needed to kept the planet secure and to create a powerbase. Money was one thing, but putting certain security measures in place was another. As it stood, only a handful of satellites and sensor relays were in orbit, covering the populated main settlement and much of its surrounding desert. This far out here, however, and the satellite coverage was spotty at best. It was not hard to believe that the Covenant had got around it undetected, and the fact that they had been stealthy about their approach suggested that they had come to Thrace with a very specific purpose in mind.

Here on the clearing, two other Pelicans were parked as were several ground transports. About thirty soldiers milled about, and they were in the process of erecting tents and communications equipment to establish a camp of sorts. Carson made his way for the main tent, where the bulk of the equipment had been placed. The heat outside the tent was as unrelenting as he had come to expect, and he did his best to ignore the way in which his mostly desert-brown uniform clung to his skin. He took off his beret as he walked into the confines of the tent, feeling a rush of cool air as one of the technicians here activated an air conditioning unit. Some relief, yet unlikely to be adequate for the environment out here.

"Who's in charge here?" Colonel Carson asked aloud. The handful of technicians inside stood and saluted. One man, tall and broad-shouldered, outfitted in standard desert combat gear, approached. He was well-built, with the body of a Marine, and the experience of one.

"Staff Sergeant Joseph Baird." The soldier snapped off a quick salute. "Good to see you here, Colonel."

"We shouldn't be out here to begin with, Sergeant." Carson looked over at the table nearby, where a few portable computers had been set up. A map had been laid out across the table, and several markers denoted the mining town and the positions of the Covenant forces. "Intruders are on our land, and it's best we nip this problem in the bud as soon as possible." Carson went past the Staff Sergeant and took a closer look at the map. "Are these markers accurate?"

"We've got spotters outside mapping out the enemy positions. They're as accurate as we can get them."

Carson nodded his head. It would take time to gather more intelligence, and he intended on taking care of the unwanted visitors as soon as possible. If there were already two Phantoms worth of alien soldiers on Thrace, then there were likely more to come.

"Do they know we're here?" Carson asked the Staff Sergeant.

"Maybe. Maybe not. If they know, they haven't shown it yet."

"We'll keep it low key for now." Carson tapped at one of the markers on the map, which was set at the edge of the mining town. "I suspect our alien visitors came here intending not to get noticed. If we show our hand too early, they may get spooked and bring in more help. However, we may be dealing with a force that is simply too small to compete with our own, hence why they came here hoping they wouldn't be noticed. Regardless, we still need to find out why they're here. I have my suspicions, but what I think would be the best option for us now is to capture one of them."

"Capture?" The Staff Sergeant frowned. Covenant soldiers had never been keen on letting themselves be captured. Carson turned to look at him, his expression serious, enough so to let the Staff Sergeant know that the plan was a genuine one.

"Preferably one of the Elites. Put together a small recon team, give them stun batons and anything else that we have that's good at neutralising large targets. I want an Elite in our custody within the next few hours." Carson looked Staff Sergeant Baird in the eyes, and he saw the man nod in understanding. "Ensure it's a low ranked one. They may know enough to shed some light as to why they are here, and they may be more likely to crack under pressure."

"Of course, Colonel. I'll see to that team right away." The Staff Sergeant saluted, and turned on his heel before striding out of the tent. Carson returned his attention to the map, and with one hand he picked up a black marker and started to draw upon the map itself. Additional patrols, guard positions and snipers, things he intended to see to in the real world as soon as possible. Getting these aliens off of his planet was crucial, and the sooner it got done, the better.

* * *

The garage at the ONI safehouse was dusty and strewn with all manner of rusted equipment, left behind by the building's previous owners. Having parked the Warthog inside, Leah found herself greeted by Rickard, who barged into the enclosed garage with a look of both irritation and curiosity etched upon his face. Apparently he had been trying to get in touch with her for some time, but she had deactivated her comm-piece well before she had left the old mining town. As such, her discovery came as a surprise to the man, and she was in the process of opening one of the backdoors on the Warthog when Rickard walked up to her.

"Where the hell have you been?" He demanded. "Your comms were down…"

"I thought it would be best to maintain radio silence." Leah turned to him, as she had been about to pull the Forerunner out of the backseat. "The Covenant were all over my position."

"They didn't follow you?"

"No. I don't think they would have chanced coming here. They're a small force, and they probably know they'd be outmatched by the locals in terms of numbers. Just about everyone on this planet carries a gun, and most of them aren't fond of aliens."

Rickard frowned. His eyes flitted to what was sprawled across the backseat, the bulky and unmistakable form of the unconscious ancient alien. Of course, to Rickard he did not know what to make of it. The thing did not resemble any alien he had seen before, and the armour was so different to anything he had seen used in the past that for a moment he was simply baffled. This was a rarity for Rickard, as being an intelligence officer it was his job to know things other people did not. It was something he prided himself on, being one step ahead of everyone else, so when Leah started hauling the armoured form out of the Warthog, Rickard found himself at a loss. Just what had she brought home from her trip abroad?

"What the hell is that?" Rickard asked.

Leah had expected that very question.

"I found him locked away in a Forerunner ruin," she replied. "I think he's a Forerunner."

"You think? How can you be so sure?" Rickard motioned to the open door across the garage, where one of the other operatives had been standing. "Get a trolley in here." The operative nodded and left the room, heading off to get some kind of means of transporting the unconscious armoured alien.

"I read all the reports about what happened on Requiem." This was certainly true. Leah had been practically required to read them, along with every other Spartan. Being what she was allowed her access to information that was kept from most. "I know what to expect from a Forerunner. Still doesn't beat meeting the real thing." To prove her point, she reached for the face-plate and removed it, revealing the surprisingly youthful features beneath. "Does that look like anyone you know?"

Rickard visibly swallowed. Leah might have grinned at the reaction, if she was not disciplined enough to hide what she was really feeling. That was one thing Spartans were very good at, even if in recent years Leah had begun to loosen up a little. After all the things she had seen and done, not loosening up, as it were, might have hinted at some kind of mental instability. She had passed her last routine psychiatric assessment without issue, although the fact that she was scheduled for another one so soon after the last suggested that someone higher-up was concerned about the mental state of the Spartans.

"And you just drove him here?" Rickard's voice sounded uneven. He seemed to be struggling with what he was seeing.

"Would you have preferred I leave him for the Covenant or Carson's people to find?" Leah narrowed her eyes, regarding the man with some slight disdain. Rickard had struck her as almost typical of ONI spooks, with his head planted firmly up his own backside. Having all that top secret information at his fingertips had apparently given him a fairly elevated opinion of himself.

"All right, Spartan. But there are quarantine procedures…"

As he said this, two of the other operatives walked in wheeling a metal trolley after them. They brought it to a stop by the parked Warthog, and Leah hoisted the unconscious alien upon it. The trolley itself was not quite big enough, causing one of the Forerunner's arms to hang limp off of one side. The two operatives began to wheel it away, slowly given the weight of the alien, and they had to shift the body slightly in order to fit the whole thing through the narrow doorway. Rickard watched as they took it away, and Leah could not help but wonder what awaited the ancient alien. If it was indeed a living Forerunner, and this was definitely the most likely possibility, then there was no doubt in her mind that ONI had some decidedly _invasive_ things waiting for it.

"We'll have to sterilise the whole thing," Rickard said. "Basic radiation treatment. Same goes for everyone here. But I'm sure we can sort that out back on board the _Light and Shadow._ "

Leah turned back to him upon hearing this. The UNSC _Light and Shadow_ was a prototype stealth frigate that belonged to ONI, and was the ship that Commander Boone was in charge of and from where the operation on Thrace was organized. It was capable of activating stealth systems that kept it invisible to any kind of sensors, whether they be human or alien in design, and was the sort of vessel well-suited to an operation in potentially hostile space. The technology itself was reverse-engineered from that of the Covenant, and in turn it had been somewhat improved upon. Leah had not expected to go back there anytime soon, but given what she had just found today, it was no surprise that the people in charge wanted her off of Thrace, presumably for some kind of debriefing. Commander Boone was no doubt going to be very interested with what the Spartan had uncovered.

Leah headed through the door and into the safehouse itself, with Rickard following after her.

"Carson's people have set up a camp not far from the Covenant landing site," Rickard informed her. "I take it you did what you could to leave them alone? Our sources within the town have made it clear that Carson knows there's a Spartan in his colony, and he may take extreme measures to deal with it. Well, _you_ , in this case."

Leah glanced back at him as she made her way down the corridor.

"Extreme measures?" She asked.

"He's the kind of man who would send an assassination team after someone he did not like," Rickard replied. "That includes you, Leah. If they work out your identity, Carson's likely to chase you down."

"He sounds like a very determined man." Leah stepped through a door on the left, entering into the safehouse's armoury. Here, she began to unload her rifle, before she pulled a piece of cloth from one pocket and began to wipe the weapon down of the dirt and sand that had collected upon it.

"You and I both know just how determined he can be." Rickard paused for a moment, frowning at the way in which the Spartan seemed only partially interested in what he had to say. "Commander Boone wished to speak with you in person, and you'll be taking your latest finding up to the _Light and Shadow_ when you leave. Same goes with the Skirmisher."

"Sounds like the trip will be fun," Leah said, without looking at Rickard. Getting off of Thrace would make for a welcome change of pace, and a means for her to retrieve her armour from the frigate. She had done enough without it, and as it stood, she intended on letting the Commander know her precise feelings on the assignment here. Especially the part about how she felt being little more than ONI's foot soldier for their black ops. "A Spartan, a Skirmisher and a Forerunner on the one Pelican. Sounds like the start of a bad joke."

"If that thing you brought back is indeed a Forerunner, then there may very well be a commendation in it for you, Leah." Rickard relaxed his frown, and then smirked at her. "Heaven knows you've already got plenty of those."

Leah looked at him then, but said nothing. The way the man was smiling irked her, and she would have loved nothing more than to punch him in the face. Of course, she knew better than to give in to such a basic desire. He was just another in a long line of superiors, and some of her previous ones had been smug and irritating, among other things. Very few had been worthy of her full respect, but she could at the very least respect the rank and the uniform. As for Rickard, he had no rank and his uniform was bare and unmarked. There was hardly anything there to respect, really. Just another reason for her to get out of this assignment.

Leah began to disassemble the battle rifle, laying out each part before her. It was an exercise that came to her automatically, and she hardly had to look down at what her hands were doing in order to do it.

"A Pelican will be arriving at the rendezvous point in two hours," Rickard said. "Make sure you're ready to leave before then."

Leah nodded in acknowledgement of the order, and with that Rickard turned and left the room. This left Leah alone for now, and she continued to strip and clean the rifle, her mind abuzz with thoughts concerning what had happened today. There was one thought in particular, one that might not have ever occurred to her before, at least until her mind had changed in regards to the people she had come to work for.

If the Covenant and the Insurrectionists could not be trusted with a living Forerunner, could ONI? Could an organization so steeped in black operations really be relied upon to utilise whatever knowledge they gleamed from a living Forerunner in a positive way? Had she made a mistake, bringing the alien here? It was a bit of a stretch, really. The Forerunners had proven their hostility to humanity only months before when the Didact had attacked Earth, and they had been the ones to originally reduce the entire human race from a space-faring species into something borderline prehistoric. If that Forerunner was hostile, she had done the right thing in bringing him here.

* * *

For the first time in over a hundred thousand years, the mind of Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience stirred. Encased in inert armour, completely without function other than to serve as a protective shell, the young Forerunner found himself dreaming. He had been unconscious, certainly, but not to the extent one may have expected. Rather than put him in suspended animation, the prototype chamber had instead frozen him in time, with unconsciousness simply being an after-effect. As it was, the field had protected the organic much more than the inorganic, and his armour was now without the functionality he was used to.

He dreamed, and continued to do so as his body was moved from one location to another. He endured the deepest slumber he had ever experienced in a long time, and his dreams took him back to a time when he had not been at war, and instead he had been at his home on the Forerunner colony of Telathrillan, one of the worlds his species had first colonised, so very many years before. His brothers and sisters were all there, as were his parents. His father, a large Warrior-Servant, was swinging about a wooden sword as his children playfully rushed at him with their own, and he gently deflected their blows. All of them were so much younger and innocent then, and Accord, being the youngest, seemed to receive the most attention from his parents.

All seven of the children had remained within their rate, growing up to serve as warriors for the great Forerunner empire. And all of them had died in battle, until finally it had been Accord and his oldest sister, Lance-of-Righteous-Flame, who had been all that had remained. Their parents had lived on, and by all appearances had gone on to greatly outlive their own children. Despite the dreamlike nature of it all, Accord got the thought in his head that he would never see his parents again. Or his home-world, or even any other Forerunners for that matter. In fact, the whole dream seemed to fade around him, and he found himself standing on that blackened, crater-marked field again, energy weapons fire criss-crossing the sky above whilst burning embers drifted around him.

He would never see any of his old life again.


	9. Distant Thunder

**Distant Thunder**

The trip to the UNSC frigate _Light and Shadow_ was about as awkward and irritating as Leah had expected it to be. She sat in the back of a Pelican with an unconscious Forerunner, who had since been strapped onto a metal trolley, and an overly talkative Skirmisher who sat at the other end with his hands and ankles cuffed together. Regardless of the Skirmisher's circumstances, he seemed as chirpy as ever, almost literally so given his bird-like appearance. Leah would have preferred the trip to be silent, yet it appeared she would not receive such a luxury.

"You look so morose," Jak'Talva said. He regarded the Spartan curiously. "Is that something you Spartans do a lot? Do any of you ever smile?"

She ignored the alien, and instead looked at the unconscious armoured Forerunner. It had since been covered up with a black tarpaulin, leaving only its head exposed. The face-plate was back where it was, leaving little to look at but the sleek armour the alien wore. Still, even that was a point of interest, and there would certainly be some value to researching the armour. Some positive advancements might come from that.

"And who's the other one?" Jak'Talva asked. "He does not appear to be anyone I'm familiar with."

Leah shook her head slowly. If she had to put up with this for the whole journey, she may indeed end up breaking the Skirmisher's neck.

"It's none of your business," Leah replied.

"It's in the ship with me, so I would think it technically _is_ my business, as strange as it sounds."

Leah ignored him, and instead rose out of her chair and went for a compartment at the wall. Here, she pulled the front of it open, revealing various odds and ends that were being kept inside. As she had been hoping, there was a roll of grey duct tape among the bric-a-brac. She took this from the compartment and moved over to where the Skirmisher was seated. Upon seeing the roll of tape, his yellow eyes widened slightly as he realised what was coming.

"Look, I apologise if I'm…" He did not get to finish, as Leah grabbed him by the snout with one hand, forcing it closed and turning the rest of his sentence into a series of incomprehensible grunts. With her teeth, she pulled on the end of the tape before using her other hand to wrap it around the alien's snout several times over, firmly closing his mouth whilst ensuring that his nostrils were exposed. The last thing she wanted to do was suffocate him, as annoying as he was.

Letting go of the Skirmisher once she was satisfied with her handiwork, she put the tape away and returned to her seat, all the while Jak'Talva grunted angrily her way.

Leah sat back down, and was left in the relative silence of the Pelican's trip through space. Jak'Talva gave up trying to speak with his snout taped up, and this left only the hum of the craft's engines as it glided its way across the void between planets. Thrace was the fourth planet from the sun, yet one thing Leah found unusual was its distinct lack of greenery. Some areas of the planet were comprised of grassland, but most of it was a barren desert, despite its distance from the sun. Only a special kind of person would think to try and live in such a place, and Leah had some respect for those settlers who had taken that leap of faith and made a home for themselves on a planet most would consider undesirable.

The minutes went by, and Leah became lost in her thoughts, so much so that the sound of the pilot's voice coming through the speakers caused her to perk up suddenly.

"We're approaching the _Light and Shadow_ now. Stand by for landing."

Leah relaxed in her chair as the Pelican slowed down. There were no windows here, so she could not see the progress herself, but she knew it well enough to judge by the sounds and the speed they were going. They were likely ascending into the hangar back on the frigate's underbelly, and a sudden _clunk_ somewhere above them indicated that the docking clamp had taken hold. The engines whirred down, and the Pelican itself was slowly lifted up by the clamp. Beneath the transport, the landing bay doors closed shut, and atmosphere vented in from shafts all around. As soon as the Pelican fell still, the rear ramp began to open. Light flooded in from the landing bay, and a pair of men in grey and orange technician uniforms stepped into view. One was trailing a fuel hose, and he disappeared around the edge of the craft in order to plug it into the fuel cap.

Leah rose to her feet, and she stepped out of the Pelican into the fairly small hangar bay. It was large enough for a pair of Pelicans, the other one being parked about ten metres away. Frigates were only small vessels after all, and the stealth systems of this one in particular required it to have a fairly agile frame. In a battle, a ship like this would be a support vessel to anything larger, combating enemy fighters and light ships. As it stood, the largest room on the vessel was the landing bay, and that was staffed by a handful of maintenance and technician types.

Leah did not need to wait long for the welcoming committee. It was not so much a 'committee' as it was one man, one who was outfitted in MJOLNIR armour sans helmet. The armour in question was mostly black and grey in colour, and heavily modified. A keffiyeh was wrapped around the neck, and a combat knife was set in a sheathe on one chest pauldron. As for the face of the one sporting the armour, it was that of a young man, a fair bit younger than Leah.

"Senior Chief Petty Officer," the Spartan said. "Commander Boone wants to see you right away."

"I thought so." She gestured back at the Pelican with one hand. "I've got the prisoner, and the Forerunner."

The other Spartan made a gesture with his hand and a trio of Marines appeared from behind him, traversing the length of the hangar bay before entering the rear of the Pelican. One of them came back hauling Jak'Talva, who grunted something that sounded far from a friendly greeting, whereas the other two came out wheeling along the trolley carrying the unconscious Forerunner. The other Spartan watched these two disparate figures be brought by, before he raised one brow and returned his gaze to Leah.

Unlike most Spartan-IIIs, B221 Eric did not seem to carry the same level of respect for the Spartan-II predecessors. In fact, he did not seem to carry much respect for anyone at all, save for Commander Boone. He was ONI to the core, and had likely been ingratiated into their organization from very early on in his service to the UNSC. Leah had not known him for long, but during that time she had noticed the close working relationship between him and Commander Boone. He did her bidding without question, and on top of that he seemed to be her own glorified bodyguard. It was an unusual arrangement, yet ever since joining ONI in its operation out here, Leah had grown accustomed to 'unusual arrangements'.

"After you, Lieutenant." Leah motioned for him to lead the way, and he turned around and started out of the hangar.

* * *

Commander Laura Boone was a tall woman in her mid-thirties. She wore the grey uniform of a Navy officer, albeit with black shoulder highlights that indicated her attachment to ONI. The woman herself often carried a stern look about her, and she moved with the confidence of someone who knew they were in charge. Her fair skin and narrow nose gave her a youthful appearance, as did her hazel eyes, but the lengthy scar that ran down her left cheek belied some of her inner nature. She was a fighter, someone who was not afraid to claw her way to the top regardless of who she mauled along the way. Operation Distant Thunder had been her brainchild, and likely a means for her to make her career, perhaps even get a promotion in the process.

Her brown hair was tied back, and she stood on the frigate's confined bridge surrounded by only a handful of personnel. These newer vessels, especially the ONI prototypes, did not require a great deal of people working its systems. Especially in these circumstances, where a low profile was practically required.

Boone stood before the operations map in the middle of the command centre, with the main view-screen further ahead. The view-screen displayed a computerized map of the surrounding region, and blinking blue markers denoted the handful of satellites in orbit of Thrace. Most belonged to the local government, but all of them had been commandeered by ONI, without the local government even being aware of the intrusion. Her people here could hack into any one of the satellites at will, which in itself seemed like an underhanded invasion of the privacy of the people on the planet.

As for the bridge in general, it took up as little room on the frigate as possible, giving rise to narrow aisles and closely packed computer terminals. There was no front window here, something that one could find on older vessels. The war with the Covenant had gone to show that windows, no matter how thick, tended to make for weak spots on a space-faring vessel.

Leah did not speak her thoughts aloud as she followed Eric into the command centre. Commander Boone turned to face her as she heard her approach, while Eric moved off to one side and stood up straight, keeping an eye on Leah as Boone moved to greet her.

"Spartan Leah," Boone said. "Looks like you've made quite the find." She spoke matter-of-factly, as if discovering a living Forerunner was run-of-the-mill work. "And you brought in the arms smuggler. Excellent work, as always."

Leah remained silent. She had thought to voice her desire to be transferred off of the taskforce, but something made her hesitate. It was not so much the reaction from Boone and her superiors she was worried about, rather it was herself. Something stopped her because part of her enjoyed being out here, it simply could have been for a better cause. As it stood, they were undermining the local government and stirring up trouble across the frontier. Innocent people were likely to die if things continued the way they were. If she left, they would simply get someone else to fill in for her. Even Eric, whom she thought might be less concerned about collateral damage.

"I hope the Skirmisher's worth the cost it took to get him," Leah said.

"Operative Rickard mentioned your views on the collateral damage," Boone replied. She clasped her hands behind her back, standing in a very straight and military posture. "It is regrettable, but often things like that cannot be avoided. We're doing important work out here, Spartan. The UNSC needs to re-establish itself out here, and these 'independents' have been running their own shows for too long. That's why we're here."

"Surely there are better ways, Commander?"

"I'm open to suggestions." Boone tilted her head slightly, and offered Leah a friendly smile. "You are the most experienced person here, Senior Chief. You've done it all. Surely you've got some better way of carrying out this operation?"

"All I'm saying, Commander, is that we need to limit the collateral damage. It's not just a matter of enforcing UNSC governance out here. It's winning the hearts and minds of the people. That was what was missing in the Insurrection. I was there, I fought against the Insurrectionists and I like to think I know how these people work. They find out ONI's here, stirring up trouble and they'll turn against the UNSC more so than they might have already."

"The UNSC was what put these people out here in the first place," Boone replied. She had listened carefully to Leah's words, yet she did not seem too concerned with what point the Spartan was trying to make. "The UNSC allowed them to set up their settlements and work on their terms, as long as they paid proper respect to the Earth government as a whole. Thrace is rich in natural resources, and a lot of its ores would be put to good use in building ships to strengthen our fleet, especially after the war."

"I think a more measured approach might work better, Commander." Leah did not wish to start an argument. Commander Boone was very much in charge here, regardless of Leah's NCO rank or experience.

"I know black ops aren't normally your thing, Senior Chief," Boone said, "But they are necessary. Someone has to do the dirty work, and ONI specialises in just that. I will take your recommendations under advisement, but for now, Spartan, I want a full report on the mission last night and of your discovery of the Forerunner earlier today. I'd very much like to get as much information off to FLEETCOM as soon as possible."

"What about the Forerunner?"

"He's been taken into a quarantined section of the sick bay," Boone replied. "I'm having a few of our medical staff take a look at him now. That armour he's wearing will likely provide us a technological leap forward in defence technologies, and that's just the beginning. Really, Senior Chief, you should be proud of what you've done. Not only with finding the Forerunner, but with everything you've done for Operation Distant Thunder so far." The Commander sounded positively pleased, so she no doubt meant what she was saying. Leah, on the other hand, did not feel the same. In fact, she felt very much uncertain, and Boone's smile did not do anything to reassure her.

A blinking red light, accompanied by a beeping, sounded out from the main operations terminal. Boone flicked a switch with one finger, and a man's voice broke through the intercom.

" _This is Rogers down in medical. We've conducted some scans of the Forerunner, and there's some interesting things we've found."_

"I'll be down in a minute," Boone said. She took her finger away from the switch and turned to Leah. "Maybe you'd like to come along, see the kind of wonders your discovery has to offer."

Leah nodded her head. She did want to learn more about the Forerunner, and she found herself very interested in whatever Boone and her ONI cohorts intended to do with it. Something told her they already intended to treat it like a threat, a perfectly understandable response given what had happened in the past, and only time would tell if that reaction would not be justified. As it was, curiosity was mostly what propelled Leah to follow Boone out of the command centre. The medical wing was on a lower deck, at the far end of the frigate. The corridors on the way there were narrow ones, and personnel of varying sorts milled about on their day-to-day activities, stopping to salute the two senior officers as they went by.

Like most human vessels, the inside of the UNSC ship was mostly grey metal and beige paintwork. The mess hall, which was only slightly smaller than the command centre, was on the way to the medical wing. Leah looked through the open doorway at the scattered assortment of crewmen seated about the place. Every room of this frigate was small in some way, with as much compacted into the space available as possible. Leah found herself missing the larger ships she was used to, the cruisers and the carriers, with their large expansive rooms and chambers. This frigate was practically claustrophobic in comparison, but it was necessary. Some of the doorways were such that Leah had to duck her head down to avoid bumping her head.

The medical wing was a small collection of white painted, sterile rooms. There was one main operations room, where several narrow beds were set up, along with all manner of medical equipment. One of the subsidiary rooms here served as the quarantine area, and came complete with a thick observation window and a small room beyond it where a few seats were located. Here, the Chief Medical Officer, a middle aged man named Rogers, waited for the Commander and her companion. As the pair walked in, Leah's gaze went over to the observation window and into the quarantined room. It was mostly bare, save for the figure of the Forerunner laid across the bed in the middle. Two people in sterile white uniforms and surgical masks were inside, and they were systematically removing the ancient alien's armour. A set of monitors had been connected to the alien, and were feeding back all manner of relevant data. A pulse beeped, making it clear that the Forerunner was far from dead.

"Commander Boone," Rogers said, as the Commander approached him. "We've made a few interesting finds."

"Cut to the chase," Boone countered. She crossed her arms, eyeing the doctor with one brow raised. "Is that a Forerunner in there or not?"

Leah walked up to the window, looking in at the 'operation' in progress. The two medical staff members within had since stripped the Forerunner down to some kind of dark under-suit, one that appeared to be made from a smooth black material. The armour pieces were placed upon a table at the other side of the room, each piece kept separate from the rest. With this done, Leah could take a proper look at the alien's features, among them the pale, blue-tinged skin, the slitted nostrils and the odd, quill-like black protrusions on his scalp. A set of slightly bulbous, orange growths were at either side of his neck, and they moved with each breath he took. Nonetheless, this alien did have some passing physical resemblance to a human being, if one could look past the obvious differences. For now, his eyes remained closed, and his muscles were relaxed. He had been in a very long slumber, and continued to be so by all appearances.

"We know very little about the species," the doctor said. "We do have detailed reports from the events that occurred at Requiem, concerning the Didact, but even with those in mind we're still dealing with a good amount of speculation. The Didact, from what we can tell, was a unique case. He was in suspended animation within a 'cryptum', as they're called, whereas this one here shares only a passing resemblance to the Didact…"

"Go on." Boone crossed her arms over her chest. She did not appear to interested in the more extraneous information, and likely wanted to know if the Forerunner could be exploited or not.

"By all looks, he is a Forerunner. A younger one at that." The doctor glanced back at the alien through the observation window. "And, judging from his current state, he was not in the same kind of suspended animation that the Didact was discovered in. He's in some kind of deep state of sleep, almost like a coma, but not entirely like one at the same time. We're dealing with something we've never actually seen before, the first time a living Forerunner has been put under the microscope." He returned his gaze to Boone. Leah remained by the window, looking in at the alien, her mind wandering, all the while she listened carefully to what the doctor was saying.

"Whatever he was found in protected him from the effects of the halo array," the doctor said.

"And that's the kind of technology we could do with," Boone added.

"The Covenant is all over that site now," Leah interjected, and she turned around to look at the Commander. "Either that, or Colonel Carson's people have regained control of the site. Regardless, the only way we'd be able to get hold of that technology is if we launch a full-blown strike, and as you said during the briefing, Commander, we need to keep a low profile out here." Leah could see Boone's mind working, as she considered their options. They only had a small crew here, hardly enough to launch a strike.

"I'll send word to command to send us more people. We'll certainly need them."

Leah could see where this was going. Boone was calling in the cavalry, and she no doubt intended to take what Forerunner technology there was by force. Apparently the 'low key' nature of Operation Distant Thunder was about to be thrown to the wayside, in favour of the kind of force that the UNSC had often preferred to wield.

"We've run some scans," the doctor said, getting the pair's attention. He pointed to an illuminated panel on the wall, where a series of images had been pinned. Scans, both external and internal, of the alien within the quarantined room. "We've been able to map much of his physiology. Essentially, they are not too different from ourselves, but there are a few points of interest." He tapped at one scan, some kind of x-ray of the Forerunner's head. Leah could see the skull layout, and its resemblance to a human one. There was a small, brighter rectangle within the brain, towards the back of the head. "We suspect that the anomaly there is some kind of technology, much like our own neural interfaces. It likely allows him to interface with his armour, perhaps even an artificial intelligence, similar to what we can do with our own MJOLNIR armours."

"Is he going to wake up?" Boone asked.

"I don't know." The doctor shook his head. "He may or may not, there's simply no way for us to know. We're only scratching the surface when it comes to what we know of his species. For now, we can only watch and wait. We'll continue our scans, and we'll start delving into the brainwave data as well." He paused for a moment, as he pondered what else to add. "I have been through all of ONI's records of the Forerunners. The things they were supposedly capable of…"

"Near immortality." Boone took a step towards the images from the scans, her eyes narrowing. Leah could see the ambition in her eyes, as she regarded the results. The Commander was likely already thinking of ways to exploit this find for her own gain. It was not a look that Leah found appealing.

"Not only that," Boone continued, "But we could find a way to access the Domain."

"Their computer network?" It was Leah's turn to frown. She had gone through the reports herself, but there were still some things she was not sure on. "Wasn't that destroyed when the halo array fired?"

"It's more than a computer network," Boone replied. She shifted her eyes to Leah. "From what we've learned, the Domain was a galaxy-spanning extra-dimensional repository of Forerunner knowledge. A few of our researchers believe it still exists, to some extent. I for one would love to find out for sure." She cocked one eyebrow at the Spartan. "You look unsure of yourself, Senior Chief."

"I just can't help but think that kind of thing is best left alone," Leah replied.

"Think of all the knowledge we could gain, if we could achieve even the most basic level of access to the Domain." Boone had likely thought about all this since she had been told of the discovery of the Forerunner. To Leah, it sounded like she had some very grand things in mind. "If it still exists, then by all means we should try and access it. The Forerunners were tens of thousands of years ahead of us. They could teach us a lot, and their knowledge could help put humanity first, above every other species. We could use the edge."

"We could?" Leah was about to add, _'Or just ONI?'_ when one of the med techs inside the quarantine room tapped on the window. All heads turned to him as he pressed a button on the intercom, his voice transmitting into the observation room.

"Commander, doctor, we're getting some readings in here." The med tech sounded a little concerned, and Leah found her gaze going to the medical machinery connected to the Forerunner's body.

"Elaborate?" Commander Boone walked up to the intercom panel by the window and flicked a switch. "What kind of readings?"

"Brainwave activity has increased. Looks like he's waking up, ma'am."

Leah was surprised, but did not show it. As for Boone, she looked suitably intrigued, and set her eyes on the slumbering Forerunner. At a glance, the alien was not moving. Presumably, his brain was active, and he may very well be on the verge of waking up. Leah could only wonder what was going on in his head, and how he would react when he came to in a galaxy completely unlike the one he had left behind. It would have been daunting, to say the least. The kind of thing that could traumatise someone. She found herself waiting for the moment the alien awoke, the anticipation building to an extent that caught her off guard.

As if some higher power had read her mind, the Forerunner's eyes did shoot open as the humans watched on. Right away the shouting started, and Leah could only watch with a mix of fascination and uncertainty as the increasingly chaotic scene played out before her.


	10. Reveille

**Reveille**

There was no reassuring presence at the back of his mind, and it was clear to him right away that his ancilla, at the very least, was gone. How that had happened, he did not know, at least not until he opened his eyes and realised he was without his armour. He felt cold, and the first thing he saw was a bright white rectangular light set into a mostly grey ceiling. It was not the kind of design he had seen before, and he turned his head to either side to survey the rest of his surroundings. He was in a small room, a medical one of some sort, and he was the occupant of the single bed within it. A bed that was a bit small for him, so it was apparent that it had not been made with his frame in mind.

His sister…She had left him in the prototype chamber. A way to protect him while their own ships incinerated the outpost. Someone had found him, woken him from whatever forced hibernation the chamber had placed him into. Had his own people come back for him?

Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience sat up then, and his gaze went straight to the two smaller figures standing in the room with him. Clad in white, and wearing similarly white masks of some sort, they both looked startled and afraid. They were also distinctly human in appearance. Accord realised then that the humans had found him instead, and he sought to rectify that situation immediately. They had stripped him of his armour, yet they had foolishly neglected to constrain him. He reached for the nearest one of the two, grabbing him by the neck before he shifted himself off of the bed. Hoisting the human off of his feet, Accord slammed him against the nearest wall, all the while the human squirmed in his grasp and tried to break free. As for the other one, he hit a switch on the wall that caused some kind of infernal wailing to emit from their surroundings, and he promptly staggered out of the room as a red light above the door began to flash. Upon leaving, the door sealed shut behind him, and Accord realised then that he had been locked in.

"Where am I?" Accord demanded, yelling it straight at the human. The human male winced, but apparently he did not understand. The grunting that came out of his mouth was incomprehensible, so Accord lightened his grip and allowed the human some breathing room. Expecting some kind of response, Accord was confused by the noises that left the human. They were words, there was no doubt about that, but they were nothing he could understand. At least, not at first. Had his ancilla been present, she would have been able to run the language through a translator. As it stood, he had to rely on his neural implant, and that would be a slower translation process. This only added to his confusion, as he had a decent grasp of the human's common tongue, as did all Warrior-Servants. It was necessary, in case they were without the means of translation tools, as they were at war with the species and knowing how to decipher their communications was integral to the war effort.

More human speech came from the end of the room. Accord turned around, and he found himself looking at a large window that looked into another, smaller room. Here, a trio of humans were present, with one presumably speaking through some kind of communications device. Her voice carried an electronic tinge, and came through into the room from a speaker on the wall. The woman speaking to him wore a uniform unfamiliar to Accord, and she had fairer skin and a mean scar on one cheek. The other humans with her did not look like any he knew. One was a middle-aged male in a white coat, and the other was another woman, taller and more muscular than the others. All three watched him with varying degrees of concern and intrigue. To them, he was probably just a scientific curiosity. Forerunners rarely let themselves be taken prisoner, and the humans themselves had never been ones to take prisoners to begin with. Accord could only imagine what kind of humiliation his capture would bring to not only himself, but to his parents as well. And his sister…

She was dead. He knew this now. She had been burned along with the outpost, yet somehow the prototype stasis chamber had saved him. Accord let go of the human technician, letting him drop to the floor where he let out a few gasps, attempting to regain his breath. He then walked over to the observation window, and here he noticed a speaker device by it that likely mirrored the one the human commander was speaking into. However, his gaze went over to a table nearby, where his armour had been neatly placed. With this in mind, he moved over to where his helmet lay, and he carefully placed it over his head. All the while the humans watched and waited, with the one in charge speaking again, not that her words meant anything to him.

Accord could gain little from his dormant armour systems. His ancilla was seemingly gone, although not entirely. Traces of her presence still remained, and he hoped it would be enough to provide some insight to what was going on. Enough to spur his neural interface into some kind of activity, and he stood where he was for a minute as the helmet's systems and that of the interface mingled.

That was it. His helmet played back everything the human commander said, and it ran through its library of dialects in order to find some kind of reference point. The process took some minutes, all the while the humans watched, and more of them appeared in the observation room. These ones were in some kind of metal armour vests, carrying primitive looking weapons that lacked the finesse of design of the human energy weapons that Accord was used to seeing.

Finally, Accord took off the helmet. At least his armour seemed intact, even if its systems were mostly defunct. He walked back over to the window, and there he pressed the most prominent switch on the intercom before he started to speak. He would not normally have talked to humans, as these barbarians were beneath him, but something told him this was not a normal prisoner of war situation. The sheer look of the room he was in, and of the humans he could see, along with the technology present indicated that some very large changes had occurred during his time asleep. And that was the real question, was it not? How long had he been asleep? Had his own people even tried searching for him? This last question was one he already knew the answer to, and he knew then that his parents had truly lost all of their children.

The human woman spoke again. This time her words seemed to make some kind of sense, even if Accord only received part of the message.

"Do you understand me?" He asked, upon flicking the switch on the communications panel. There seemed to be a pause on the other end, and the human commander frowned, as if she had caught some of the meaning. Accord had the basics of the strange language flooding into his brain, yet even his mouth stumbled over the words as he spoke them. It was one thing to have the knowledge, but it was an entirely different thing to put it to use.

"What did you do? With your helmet?" That was better. The human commander spoke slowly, as if she thought that would help. In this instance, it actually did.

"A basic run-through of my ancilla's language systems," Accord replied. He also spoke slowly, doing his best to pronounce the words properly.

"Ancilla?"

The human sounded confused. This was unusual, for even the humans should be aware of such a thing.

"Artificial intelligence. It was able to give me an adequate understanding of your language." He frowned, realising that he was dealing with a very different bunch of humans. Certainly not any he was used to. They wore wildly different clothes to those he had encountered before, and even at a glance their technology was less sophisticated. Those in the observation room were looking at him as if he were some kind of freak. Perhaps he was, to them.

"What do you last remember?" The human commander narrowed her eyes. Accord did not particularly feel like giving this human the satisfaction of answering her questions, despite what his brain was telling him. Things were very different here, and he had to find out what he could.

"How long have I been asleep?" Accord knew that answering a question with another question was hardly proper etiquette, and apparently this human thought the same judging from the frown she gave him. She wanted to be the one in charge here, this much was apparent. Still, he had to know.

"I'll ask the questions around here," the human commander said. "For one, what's your name?"

"Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience." The Forerunner narrowed his eyes at the strange look the human gave him, as if the name was the strangest thing she had ever heard. "Again, human. How long have I been asleep?"

"You've been asleep for a very long time." It was the other woman, the taller, more muscular one, who spoke then. Accord looked at her, and noticed some genuine fascination on her face, despite her imposing figure. Unlike the woman who was obviously in charge, this woman seemed to be a lot more measured in her demeanour. There was no arrogance on display here. "One hundred thousand years, likely more."

The human commander shot her a glance, an irritated one at that, likely annoyed by the interruption.

"Well, Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience," the human commander began, as she turned her attention back to the Forerunner. "I am Commander Laura Boone of the UNSC _Light and Shadow_. You were found in some kind of chamber on the planet below…"

"Primas IV?"

"Thrace. Although, it is the fourth planet from the system's star. Names change, as you'd expect." Boone scrutinised him with her eyes, as if she was sizing him up for a sparring match. Something told Accord not to trust this woman, even more so given her overall attitude. "When you were placed in suspended animation, what were you doing? Were you fighting the Flood?"

"The Flood?" Accord had heard the term before, in rumours mostly. There had been talk of a parasitical organism that the humans had apparently been at war with, but Accord himself had not been privy to the details. A lowly Warrior-Servant of the rank-and-file was not someone who would be allowed access to the more sensitive information concerning the war with humanity.

"You don't know what they are?" Boone glanced over at the other woman, who returned her look with a slightly cocked eyebrow. They seemed to know something he did not.

"You were fighting humans, weren't you?" Again, the other woman spoke. Accord nodded his head slowly.

 _One-hundred thousand years…_ Humans had measured their time relative to the sun of their home-world. If their home-world was the same as it had been back in his time, then one-hundred thousand of their solar orbits was a staggeringly long time indeed. Even Forerunners, who could live for thousands upon thousands of years, rarely made it to a quarter of that time. Eventually time got the better of them, as it did with everything else.

"The war is over, isn't it?" Accord could only assume that the humans had been beaten enough to have regressed in technology. It was certainly befitting, for a species as savage as theirs.

"It's been over for a very long time." Boone spoke in a level tone. This woman was all business, that much was clear, and it was likely a necessary trait to have in her line of work. "A lot's happened during that time, some of which might come as a shock to you."

Accord frowned. Surely nothing this woman told him could shock him? His people had prevailed, clearly, yet even that had not stopped their enemies from finding him. If all that time had indeed passed, then his parents would be long gone, as was his sister. And the humans were still around, so the Forerunners had not destroyed them completely. This surprised him, as it had been clear from the beginning of the war that the humans had to be stopped, and would pay for every crime they had committed against the Forerunners. Maybe that punishment had been dealt, and some kind of peace had stemmed from it? So many possibilities, none of which could properly prepare Accord for the actual truth.

"The Forerunners are gone," Boone said. Her tone was blunt, being the straight-talking sort she was. "All of them. Gone. Dead. Extinct. They've been that way for roughly one-hundred thousand years."

Accord did not immediately believe it. The thought that the trillions of his people who inhabited the galaxy were all dead seemed impossible. The Forerunner ecumene had covered countless worlds, and his people had spread themselves all over the galaxy. It had been their duty to watch over the many lesser species and their civilisations, a responsibility that had been granted upon them by the Precursors. The human Commander was likely lying in an attempt to break his resolve. However, with the amount of time that had passed since his sleep had begun, the thought that all his people were gone began to gradually overtake his mind. No matter how hard he tried to quell his growing doubts, and his increasing sense of unease, the human's words and all that he had so far been told began to envelop his mind. Things had changed, this much was apparent.

"Your people fought a war with the Flood, a parasitical lifeform that was taking over entire planets," Boone continued. "The Forerunners were losing the war, so they utilised a series of weapons scattered across the galaxy designed to eradicate the Flood. Those same weapons destroyed all sentient life in the galaxy, depriving the Flood of the host organisms it needed to survive." She paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in. "That's the barebones story, anyway. We still don't know the exact details, and likely never will."

Accord said nothing. The whole thing sounded a bit far-fetched, but anything could have happened within one hundred thousand years. If the Forerunners were gone, then that meant he was alone. The last of his kind, now in the custody of humans.

"If my people are all gone, and they destroyed all life in the galaxy…"

"The Forerunners had measures in place to reseed the galaxy with life, after the weapons array was fired." Boone had been expecting his questions. They were the most obvious ones, after all. "We're here because your people preserved us, along with countless other species. There are still plenty of Forerunner structures all over the galaxy, and we're only scratching the surface with what they can tell us. Which brings us to you."

Accord did not know what to believe. How had he survived, if what the Commander said was true? The stasis chamber had been some kind of prototype, so he could only assume that whatever exotic energies it had utilised had preserved him, keeping him in a stasis field all this time. At least until these humans had awakened him, which now seemed like a cruelty. If the Forerunners were gone, then what purpose did he have?

No, he could not think like that. Defeatism was not a trap that a Warrior-Servant ever fell into. He had been bred to fight for his race, to protect them from the enemies that would see them destroyed. It was a cruelty to know that they were all gone, even if he did not entirely believe it. And even if they still existed, there was no telling what might have changed during his time in stasis. Regardless, he had to remain strong, certainly in the face of these humans who likely had ulterior motives for keeping him around. He had been lost and forgotten, presumed dead along with his sister and the rest of their unit. If his people were still around, somewhere, they would have long forgotten him, and they would not be coming around to help. His armour, which would have been transmitting a signal had it been fully operational, was only good to him now for physical protection. If he could somehow get his ancilla working properly again…

"We could learn a lot from you," Boone said. "And you might learn a few things from us."

Accord did not like the woman's tone. She was trying to sound friendly, but the look in her eyes belied her true intent. This was not a woman who wanted to share knowledge. This was a woman who would take it, regardless of who got in her way. The scar on her cheek did not help her at all, in this regard.

"I doubt that you could teach me anything, human." Accord looked about the room. The medical technician he had almost strangled had moved over to the door, where he stood looking understandably worried. They had locked him inside with the Forerunner, likely through some kind of emergency lockdown function.

Accould could see that he was practically a science experiment to them, and the thought of these humans cutting him open, which seemed a likely scenario, disgusted him. "If what you say is true, then you should have left me to sleep. There is nothing left for me in this galaxy."

"That's just it," Boone said. "You're the last of your kind. We can make your time with us comfortable, but that's only if you cooperate."

There it was. The human Commander had made her intentions clear in a single sentence. Accord considered taking the medical technician hostage, to try and get himself out of his room and out of whatever structure or ship he had found himself within. However, he would be outnumbered, and despite the primitive nature of the weapons the human soldiers in the observation room carried, they would still be capable of killing him. He looked over to his armour on the table, defunct as it was, and briefly considered putting it on. As for a plan beyond that, he had none. No matter what armour he wore, he would likely be up against hundreds of humans. They would cut him down easily, even with their unremarkable weaponry.

"What do you intend to do with me?" Accord asked.

"Whatever we need to," Boone replied. "Like I said, you cooperate and things will be fine. But if you start trying to kill anyone, for instance, we'll put you down." Blunt as she had been throughout most of the conversation, Boone's honesty was also slightly unnerving. This was a woman who knew she was in charge and enjoyed it, a woman who received some kind of satisfaction from having the power of life or death over someone else. And judging by the look on the face of the other woman with her, the tall and muscular one, she thought the same thing about Boone that Accord did.

"You intend to kill me?" Accord could be blunt as well, if he needed to be.

"No, that would be counterproductive," Boone said. "Instead, we want to find out everything you know. That includes anything about this 'Domain' of yours, for one." She tapped the side of her forehead for emphasis. "I think the way to the information is stuck up here somewhere. All that knowledge, ripe for the taking. So, like I said, play along and answer our questions, and we'll make your stay with us comfortable."

Accord was not convinced. He could hardly believe what the woman had said about his people being extinct, so he was not likely to believe what she said about making things 'comfortable'. They wanted to know what he knew, which really was not a great deal in the grand scheme of things. He was a Warrior-Servant, it was his job to follow orders and fight the battles for his species. Had he been a Builder or an Engineer, he might have been able to tell these humans all about Forerunner technology. Compared to those of these other rates, Accord knew only the basics. He knew what he had to in order to fight.

"The Domain is not something humans can access," Accord said. "Not even I have been permitted to access it."

"But you have the means to…"

"I believe you are mistaken." Accord could see right away that this human had made her mind up. She wanted Forerunner knowledge, and she saw a means to get it through him, no matter what he said to try and dissuade her.

"I think the potential is there," Boone said. She motioned to the soldiers standing near her and they headed out of the observation room. The door into the medical room opened in turn, and the medical technician stumbled out right away.

Accord turned to watch as four armed humans walked inside. Three of them trained their guns on him, while another started to bundle his armour pieces onto a small metal trolley. Accord felt like stopping him, but the barrels of the projectile weapons pointed his way gave him second thoughts. They would tear him to shreds, unprotected as he was. Without his armour, he was as vulnerable as any other flesh and blood being.

"You're going to be staying in there a while," Boone announced. She sounded almost smug about it. Accord walked right up to the glass, ignoring the guns pointed his way, and he made sure to make eye contact with the human Commander. She returned his gaze in full measure, unfazed by his tall and bulky frame. "You can stare at me all you want, but as it stands, you're in our custody. I'll give you some time to think about my little proposal. Cooperation will make things easier for everyone."

Accord did not reply. As the human soldiers took away the last of his armour, he simply turned around and moved back to the bed.

"We'll run some of your data through one of our fabric synthesizers," Boone added. "Give you something a little more fitting to wear."

Accord hardly paid her any more attention. Boone took her hand away from the intercom and turned around, leaving the room with the human doctor. As for the larger human female, she remained watching him for a moment longer, and Accord looked over to her. Their eyes met, and he thought he saw some genuine worry in those eyes. It was the look of a conflicted individual, a subordinate to the Commander no less. Accord turned his head and returned to his own thoughts, trying his best to make sense of all that he had been told. The implications were massive, and the thought that he was the last of his kind may very well have been too much to bear, even for a Warrior-Servant.


	11. Incursion

**Incursion**

It was some hours later that one of the patrols returned with a blue-armoured Elite, or Sangheili as they apparently called themselves. Colonel Carson had seen his fair share of these aliens, tall and almost regal in stature, yet by far one of the most ruthless and brutal of the Covenant races.

Carson was outside when the patrol returned, and he was able to see their return firsthand as they dragged the bloodied creature behind them.

The sun was up high, unrelenting as it was, and the afternoon wore on like most. The Covenant positions at the old mining town had not changed much, save for the increased amount of guards they had put in place around the perimeter. Carson could look down onto the plateau and the old town from this particular vantage position on the edge of the camp. Behind him, colonial soldiers milled about on their assigned tasks, and occasionally a Pelican would take off or land, depositing personnel or equipment. Carson had a set of binoculars with him, and he had been watching the walls of the mining town for the last fifteen minutes or so. Sheltered amongst the rocks as he was, he was in an unlikely position to be targeted by a sniper, and even the sharpest-eyed Kig-Yar marksman would have trouble spotting him out, or even getting a shot on him. It was only slightly cooler in the shade, and he had found himself very interested in the movements of the Covenant soldiers. They had secured the town and formed a perimeter, yet aside from that they had done little else.

They were after whatever was buried underneath that town. This much was obvious, to him at least, being one of the few people who had been aware of the Forerunner technology that had been found underneath the old town. Carson lowered the binoculars, aware that a commotion was coming from somewhere further back. He turned around and made his way up the rocks and onto the camp's perimeter, where he sighted a trio of soldiers who had come back with a large, bulky shaped figure behind them. They had tied the Elite's hands behind its back and were dragging it along on a sturdy rope. As Carson had suggested, it was a Minor, wearing the blue armour that denoted the lowest rank, akin to either a Private or Corporal within the human military. The creature lacked a helmet, and its face was noticeably bruised. The soldiers had taken liberties in giving their captive the harsh treatment one would expect a bunch of rowdy soldiers to give one of their alien foes. As Carson stepped into view, the soldiers quickly straightened up, each of them offering him a salute as Staff Sergeant Baird emerged from a nearby tent.

"Excellent work, boys," Baird said, as he saw the alien. "Just what we needed."

Carson approached the trio of soldiers. The Elite was on its knees now, and seemed to be doing its best to remain dignified. However, the fear was clear in its amber-coloured eyes, and even to Carson it looked young. Its armour even beared the Covenant symbol, which surprised Carson (not that he showed it), as the Covenant itself had fractured into so many smaller, feuding factions that there were now a multitude of new symbols and crests to become familiar with.

"This one was out alone, watching the furthest point of the town," one of the three soldiers said. He sounded almost proud of himself. "We hit him with a bunch of stun rounds, and a few prods." He pulled the metal rod he had been wearing at his waist, and a flick of the wrist extended the stun prod to its full length. The tip crackled with electricity. Carson put out a hand, and the soldier obediently handed it over. The Colonel had expressly ordered several of these for the purpose of aiding in the capture of alien soldiers in possibility that aliens enemies might come to Thrace, and his decision had been a rewarding one.

By now, a small crowd had formed around the group, as just about every soldier and technician in the camp had set their attention on the exchange between Carson and the prisoner.

"You're dismissed," Carson told the soldier, and his two cohorts. They both walked off, and Carson took the rope in one hand before he handed it off to the Staff Sergeant. With this done, the pair began to head for a tent at the far end of the camp, with the Elite reluctantly following after them. He seemed resigned to his fate, or at the very least was playing along. It did not matter if he was planning anything, as Carson did not intend to give him the opportunity to pull any stunts.

The tent at the far end was a small one, with rubber flooring. The Staff Sergeant brought the Elite inside, and Carson gave the alien an encouraging zap on the lower back in order to coax him into the tent itself. This caused the alien to emit a pained yelp, and it stumbled onto the floor of the searing hot tent. There was no climate control in this one, and as such it had heated up considerably during the course of the day.

Staff Sergeant Baird tied the end of the rope around a post in one corner that had been hammered into the ground through a gap in the rubber flooring. Satisfied that the prisoner was secure, Baird nodded to the Colonel, who held the stun prod close to the alien's neck as he looked down at the burly creature. Years ago, something like this would have been seen as an imposing opponent, yet now, with the alien on its knees, it looked decidedly vulnerable. Carson had killed his fair share of aliens in the past, and he got a special sense of satisfaction seeing one of them on its knees.

Humanity had always been the superior species, he had never doubted that, and these Sangheili were barbaric in comparison. Their society was still very feudal, from what he had read, and in the end the only way they had been able to win any battles during the war was through superior technology. That was what it had come down to, with battles being fought in space where the human vessels had always been outmatched. As soon as the fighting went down to the ground, the tables often turned. No matter how large and imposing this Sangheili may have been, it was still no match for human resilience.

"I'm going to cut right to the chase," Carson said. The alien did not look at him, rather it kept its gaze on the floor. This seemed rude, and Carson made this clear when he put the business end of the stun stick against one side of its neck. A crackle sounded out, and the alien lurched to one side, emitting another pained yelp as the brief but strong current shot through its body. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

The Elite Minor slowly rose back onto its knees. This time it did look up at Carson, its amber eyes cold as they regarded the human.

"It takes a special kind of soldier to keep on following the Covenant, after everything that's happened," Carson remarked. He kept the stun prod held in one hand, end pointed to the floor, as he spoke. "Tell me, do you really believe in the Covenant? Last time I checked, it was a defunct religion. Proven false, I believe. Probably the first religion in a long time to be _proven_ to be a lie. That's really quite something."

The Elite said nothing. Carson bent his knees, putting his head level with that of the alien.

"Not feeling talkative? That doesn't surprise me. You Sangheili are all 'honour this, honour that'. Getting captured must be really humiliating." He tilted his head slightly, and put the end of the prod close to the Elite's neck. It flinched, ever so slightly, and Carson nodded his head slowly. At least some kind of progress had been made, even if it was not immediately apparent. "Let's look at it this way: you're alive, and my soldiers could very well have killed you."

The Elite remained silent. It had likely been taught how to act in this kind of situation, to some extent. Either that, or knowing the Sangheili, he had been taught to die before getting captured. With that in mind, it seemed likely that this young Minor might very well be at a loss, which might explain his seemingly resigned attitude.

"Let's start with something simple," Carson said. "I am Colonel William Carson, and you're on a planet known to us humans as 'Thrace'. The people here are under my governance, and you and your Covenant friends have pretty much invaded a sovereign world. We are well within our rights to kill every last one of you morons, truce or not, and I intend on doing just that very soon. The one thing I would like to do before I make the order for an attack, is to find out why you came here, of all places. That's where you come in." Carson narrowed his eyes slightly, as he looked into the Elite's face. "I need you to tell me why you've come here. Why has the Covenant chosen Thrace? What do you expect to find in the abandoned town?"

Both questions he was very interested in finding answers for. As expected, the Elite did not reply. Instead, it said nothing, and Carson glanced up at Staff Sergeant Baird. The pair exchanged looks, and Carson was about to continue speaking to the Elite when footsteps sounded out from behind him.

Carson stood up and turned around, watching as a technician from the operations tent walked inside.

"What is it?" He asked the young man.

"We've just got word from one of our satellite monitoring stations," the technician replied. "A Covenant cruiser was just sighted emerging from behind Rumeli." Thrace had three moons, all of them crater-marked and lifeless. Rumeli was the largest of the three, and upon hearing the news Carson could understand why the Covenant would choose that particular celestial body to hide a cruiser. He also knew that a cruiser was capable of holding hundreds of Covenant soldiers, and more than a few tanks and Banshees. A sizeable force, more so than the token presence that had so far made itself known in the old mining town.

"It's heading?" Carson asked. He handed the stun prod to the Staff Sergeant. It looked like this interrogation would have to wait a while.

"It's going for one of the other moons, but it's so far released further Phantoms that are on their way towards the planet." The technician sounded understandably worried. Carson, on the other hand, took the news in stride. He had been expecting something like this to happen. After all, the small Covenant force here already had to have come from somewhere, and there were a lot of blind spots in Thrace's satellite surveillance that it was not surprising their landing had gone undetected. He had been meaning to improve the planet's satellite coverage, and as it stood they were still stuck with the satellites the UNSC had put in place while the planet had been under their control. The Covenant cruiser was a lot bigger, and a whole lot easier to detect.

"Your friends are on their way, by the sound of it." He directed this to the Elite, who again said nothing. "Staff Sergeant, see what you can get out of the big guy here. I've got to go and make sure we're actually prepared for an attack on this scale."

The Staff Sergeant nodded in acknowledgement of these instructions. With that done, Carson turned and strode out of the tent, the technician following after him. As he so often was, he remained calm and collected. It was a trait he had had from the beginning, one that had only been strengthened by decades of near constant war. Carson was not a man to be fazed easily, not even by a Covenant cruiser and the hundreds of alien soldiers it most likely carried. There were tens of thousands of heavily armed people on Thrace ready to defend their homes, so if the Covenant insisted on fighting a ground war, they would most certainly get one.

* * *

"What do you plan to do with him?"

Leah stood in the Commander's office, as small as it was, arms crossed and her mood suitably dour. Boone was seated behind her desk, tapping away at a computer terminal. The room itself was mostly grey and bare, lit with a dry white light, and it came with an adjoining room through a door on Leah's right that lead into the Commander's living quarters. Most of the other personnel on the ship had to live four to a room, but naturally the person in charge got one to herself. Living space was at a premium on a ship like this.

"To who?" Boone looked up from whatever she had been typing out. It had been about half an hour since their talk with the Forerunner, who was still locked up inside the quarantined medical room. Leah had been unable to stop thinking about him, if only because of what had been said during the conversation. Boone had made it clear what she wanted from the ancient alien, and it had been enough to make Leah regret even bringing him on board. Still, she had not had much choice in the matter, and it was either bring the Forerunner into ONI custody, or leave him for Carson's people. Or, at worst, leave him to the Covenant, and that was one scenario that was completely unacceptable.

"The Forerunner?" Boone added, answering her own question. "Like we told him, we'll keep him in our custody until he starts telling us what we want to know. He'll cough up the answers eventually, if he knows what's good for him."

"Shouldn't we take him back to Earth?"

"I've already requested help from ONI command about that," Boone said. She seemed oblivious to Leah's concerns, or at the very least did not care much for them. "It'll take time for more of our people to come out here, and we can't just leave Thrace. Not when Operation Distant Thunder is still far from completion." She cocked her brow, meeting the Spartan's gaze. "Which is where you come in."

"Commander?" Leah had a feeling where this was going, and she found herself disliking it more than ever before. She knew she should have been better than this. She was a Spartan, made to follow orders and to fight without question. Yet working with ONI, and seeing innocents killed had struck a chord in her that she had not even known existed.

"You're going back down to Thrace by the end of the day," Boone said, somewhat bluntly. "There's still the matter of Colonel Carson. Not only that, but the Covenant incursion may give us some opportunity to accelerate things to a conclusion. Carson's been a thorn in the side of the UNSC for years, and we need to take him down sooner, rather than later."

Leah swallowed. Of course, with Commander Boone, it was always business.

"You mentioned winning over the people here," Boone continued. "An admirable notion, but not something that's even remotely practical in the current circumstances. These independents need to be brought in line, and that means taking down Carson and every one of his friends. Which is why you were brought here in the first place, Senior Chief. It's what you were made to do."

Leah did not reply. Her mouth suddenly felt dry, yet she remained straight-faced despite her growing unease.

"The Spartan program was intended to put an end to the Insurrection," Boone said. "I think you've come full circle, being assigned to this operation. You're doing what you were originally meant to do."

"The collateral damage…" Leah was going to continue, but the Commander interrupted her.

"Innocent people die all the time. The only way we're going to take down these independents is if we make the hard choices and take the hard actions. Collateral damage is regrettable, but if the mission is successful then it's an acceptable loss. Operative Rickard told me you might have been developing a soft spot for these colonial rubes. I certainly hope that isn't the case, Spartan. We can't have a soldier of your calibre compromised in any way whatsoever."

Leah thought it best she keep her opinions to herself when the Commander was present. The woman was a hardliner, and like so many of those in ONI who had some degree of power, she likely adhered to the classic 'the ends justifies the means' method of operation. Leah did not agree, yet at this point she was no longer in any mood to argue.

"Is that all, Senior Chief?" Commander Boone eyed the Spartan carefully. Leah simply nodded her head. Of course it was all, she was likely to get reprimanded if she kept questioning what ONI was doing out here. It was not as if she was blameless herself, as she had been in the restaurant last night and she had been amongst the chaos that had erupted. Civilians had died, none by her hand, but her presence there had certainly complicated a dangerous situation.

A buzzing noise from the Commander's terminal cut through the awkward pause that had befallen the pair. Boone tapped a key, opening the incoming video link from the bridge. The face of one of the technicians there appeared on her monitor.

"What is it?" Boone asked.

"Ma'am, there's a Covenant cruiser on approach. It emerged from behind Thrace's largest moon, which was a blind spot on our scanners…"

"A Covenant cruiser?" She glanced over at Leah. This should not have been surprising, given the Covenant presence on the ground. Nonetheless, it was a cause for concern, and Leah could see the grimness etched on Boone's face. They were thinking along the same lines, about what the ship's arrival meant, and it was certainly nothing good. "Make sure the stealth systems are engaged…"

"That's the problem, Commander. It must have detected us somehow, because it's on its way towards us."

Again, Boone looked up at the Spartan. Leah could see the wheels of decision turning in the Commander's mind. If they moved, they would give their position away. The cruiser may have only detected a vapour trail and may have no definite proof of the presence of the frigate. However, if they stayed they would also be discovered. The whole situation went bad either way, and a small frigate was no match for a Covenant cruiser.

"Start spooling up the slipspace drive," Boone said. She spoke with heavy reluctance, as it was apparent that she had intended to stay and complete Operation Distant Thunder. Departing now would leave unfinished business. Boone was not the type of woman to leave anything unfinished.

"That'll take a few minutes," Leah said. "We probably don't have that long."

Boone kept her eyes on the video link from the bridge.

"I'll be up there right away," she said. "Sound the general alert, spread the news. I want everyone on this ship preparing for the worst." She tapped a key and the video link cut off, leaving the pair in silence for a moment as Boone rose to her feet. She had her usually serious look on her face, more so now that they were in genuine trouble.

"That cruiser could blow us out of the sky," Leah said.

"I'm well aware of that, Spartan." Boone strode out of the room as the general alert siren wailed, and red lights throughout the narrow corridor outside began to flash. Leah followed after her as they entered a long, slightly wider corridor that went down the length of the frigate on this particular deck. The bridge was only a short distance away, and Leah followed Boone into the frantically busy confines as bridge personnel moved about and tapped away at their respective terminals as they began to prepare the ship for a slipspace jump. The technician from the video link was there, and he turned to the Commander as she walked inside.

"Commander, we'll need some coordinates." The technician stood by a computer terminal near the main view-screen, specifically the one that controlled the slipspace drive. Boone had apparently already made up her mind regarding the coordinates.

"Get us out of the frontier and to the nearest UNSC friendly colony," she replied. It would be a simple matter of going through the databases and pulling up the appropriate coordinates. The technician went about that now, as Boone walked over to a panel by the central display and put a small microphone to her mouth. As she spoke, her voice was transmitted into every room upon the frigate.

"This is Commander Boone," she announced. "We have detected a Covenant cruiser on an intercept course." Her eyes went to the view-screen, which showed the progress of the cruiser as it zeroed in on their position. "We are preparing for an emergency slipspace jump, but there is a good chance we will be fired upon before we can prep the engines fully. I want all personnel to move to their evacuation rally points and prepare to abandon ship." She ended the announcement then, placing the microphone back into its housing. Her eyes went over to Leah, who stood nearby, watching the view-screen. The Covenant cruiser would be in firing range shortly, and Boone was gambling on getting away before then. Leah knew that this would not be the case, and it was apparent that the Commander knew things would not be going their way.

"I want this ship turned around," she said. "Load a MAC round and prepare to fire. Maybe we can give the Covenant a parting gift before we leave?"

They were not going to leave. The view-screen made this clear. Boone intended to stand and fight, likely while everyone else abandoned ship. The other bridge personnel probably realised this too, but to their credit they remained focused on their jobs and followed her orders without question.

One of the bridge crew called out at that moment, their voice strained with worry.

"Commander, the cruiser's just launched plasma torpedoes our way."

On the view-screen, a pair of red blips had appeared, speeding across the empty void between the Covenant cruiser and the frigate. Plasma torpedoes were fairly basic Covenant ship-to-ship weapons, capable of burning through conventional human ship hulls. A military frigate might be able to withstand a few hits, but Leah knew from experience that a ship this size and this lightly armed was unlikely to last long in a one-on-one engagement and even plasma torpedoes, as ordinary as they were compared to other Covenant weapons, would be more than enough to blow this ship out of the sky.

"Evasive manoeuvres," Boone ordered. "Get them off us."

There was only the slightest sensation of movement as the ship's thrusters kicked in and started taking the frigate around the curve of the small moon. The plasma torpedoes tracked them, and closed in on them at a staggering speed. Leah watched the view-screen with keen interest, as did many others in the room, as those manning the ship's helm put the frigate into a dive that skirted it across the moon's light gravitational pull. One of the torpedoes scraped the rear of the ship, likely searing some part of the rear-end before continuing on its way by them where it would become lost in the void, before finally dissipating in the vacuum. The second torpedo was at a slightly lower angle and struck the rear of the ship with enough force to cause the entire vessel to shake. Leah remained steady, and Boone put her hands on the terminal in front of her to keep herself from falling over.

"Damage?" Boone asked. Leah's eyes remained fixed on the view-screen as the Covenant cruiser pursued them.

"Engine two is down," one of the technicians said. "That shot took out our slipspace drive. They knew right where to hit us, ma'am."

Leah watched Boone then, and she saw the Commander mouth the word 'shit'. She at least did not speak it out loud, and instead retained a straight face as she considered their next move. On the view-screen, the Covenant cruiser had deposited about three much smaller blips that sped after the frigate. They were not torpedoes, as such a thing would have been detected right away. No, they were something else.

"Boarding craft, Commander." The technician looked at his readouts as the ship's sensors delivered their data. "Three of them, closing fast."

"Maybe they're after the Forerunner?" Leah suggested.

"How could they know he's on board?" Boone was unconvinced.

"Maybe they just _think_ we have him? They certainly think we have _something_." Leah was simply speculating now. Nonetheless, the Commander seemed to take it seriously, judging from the look she gave her. Leah could not even be sure if the Covenant knew the living Forerunner even existed. They had probably gone into that dig site looking for relics, and they may very well have thought that the humans had stolen them. In a way, that was true: the Forerunner was certainly a 'relic' from a long-gone era.

"If that's the case, then I want you to make sure our Forerunner guest doesn't fall into the hands of whatever aliens get on board." Boone was going to stay on the bridge, as any captain should during a battle. Whether or not she would go down with the ship if it came to that remained to be seen.

"As for the boarding craft, get our rail guns working. I want them taken out." She returned her attention to the bridge at large, leaving the Spartan with her instructions. She intended on fulfilling them, as any good Spartan would, and she turned and left the bridge at that moment.


	12. Cutting Loose

**Cutting Loose**

The Covenant cruiser had firmly set the UNSC frigate in its sights now, but held off on firing further torpedoes until the boarding parties could be certain that the humans had not made off with any Forerunner relics from the planet below. As such, it simply maintained an intercept course, coming up on the rear of the small vessel. Three boarding craft sped after it, and the gun turrets on the sides of the frigate had since opened fire, spraying large calibre tracers at the boarding craft, sending forth a stream of searing yellow rounds. The shields of one withered under the fire before they failed completely, and the high calibre rounds shredded through metal and the flesh of the soldiers within before the entire ship crumpled and erupted in a brilliant and large ball of blue-white flame. As for the other two, they found their way to the frigate, burning through the outer hull and into whatever corridor or room it found first.

Commander Boone was on the bridge as this all happened, and she received real-time updates as her ship was boarded and the first reports of fire-fights within the ship reached her terminal. By now the less essential personnel were escaping the ship, and some of those escape pods were meeting an unfortunate end by the smaller plasma turrets on the cruiser. Regardless, some made it past, and the frigate's guns continued to fire at the cruiser in order to provide cover.

As Thrace was the only habitable planet in range of a typical escape pod, then it was not a stretch to believe that whoever was commanding the Covenant forces intended on going to the planet in force very soon. Boone could only smirk at the thought of the trouble that would cause for Carson and his insurrectionist cohorts.

Eric walked into the bridge at that moment, only minutes after Leah had left. He was in full MJOLNIR armour, with a Mark VI SCOUT model helmet and orange visor. He stopped a short distance away and snapped off a quick salute.

"Commander, we've got boarding parties on decks three and six. Our security teams are undermanned, and most of them went off on the first bunch of escape pods…"

"Why are you here, Spartan?" Boone had a feeling she knew why, but she would certainly not speak it out loud.

"I wanted to know what your plan was, Commander." Eric spoke in a level tone, as he so often did, unfazed by the current situation. Most of the bridge personnel, on Boone's order, had begun to pack up and leave. Those that remained manned the essential systems, whilst a few others worked on purging the ship's computers. They could not let the Covenant get hold of an ONI vessel, and Boone was well aware of the protocols in place to prevent such an eventuality.

"My plan is to follow the protocols we have, Lieutenant." Boone reached into a pocket on her uniform and retrieved her ID card, and from that dangled a set of three keys. Each one allowed her access to an integral function of the vessel, one of which was the self-destruct. "You know what the rules are. I suggest you do what you can to keep them from the bridge…"

"I think it would be best if you leave that to me, Commander." He put out a hand, intending to take the key from her. The self-destruct was timed, so either one of them could start it and leave. However, this ship was far from lost. Surely Eric knew that?

"You don't need to volunteer yourself for that, Lieutenant." Boone put the key away, and turned back to the main display. Several escape pods were away, heading for Thrace. They would likely end up falling straight into Carson's lap. An awkward situation, but Boone had already put the call out along the slipspace buoys. Help would come, eventually, it was simply a matter of time.

"Get back out there and keep them from getting into the bridge," Boone ordered. "You don't need to worry yourself about me, Lieutenant. I know what I'm doing."

"Ma'am…"

"Get out there. That's an order." She did not give Eric a chance to finish his protest. The Spartan seemed to pause for a moment, and she could almost see the uncertainty on his face despite the helmet he wore. She knew as well as any other officer the kind of trouble fraternising with a subordinate could cause, hence why it was disallowed, but something had drawn her to the Spartan. That, and it helped to have a burly, enhanced human at her beck and call.

"This ship isn't lost yet," she added. Eric nodded, saluted again, and then turned around and left. As it stood, she would need to give Leah enough time to get the Forerunner off of the ship. Once that was done, it would not be so troublesome to find them on Thrace and arrange some kind of pick up. For now, she would hold off on the self-destruct, at least until she was sure that the ship was lost.

* * *

Leah made her way through the increasingly panicked ship, alarms blaring and fires raging in places where conduits had overloaded. She followed a corridor down the length of the ship, before going down a set of steps that took her onto a lower deck. Here, she intended to find her way to the armoury, but one of the Covenant boarding craft had blocked the way in. The end of the cylindrical craft had burned through the hull with precision, sealing itself within the hole whilst the door opened and deposited the several troops on board. With only her pistol to protect her, Leah found herself in a narrow corridor with enemy soldiers in the vicinity. She could hear them, the boot-clad feet of Elites clunking along the metal floor, and the shouts of panicked crew members as they were hunted down. The Covenant had not often boarded ships during the war, preferring instead to blow them out of the sky, but circumstances were different now. They were after something, and they were making sure the humans on this ship had not acquired it. Leah knew she had to get to the Forerunner before they did, and so she forgot any notion of heading for the armoury and instead set herself on the quickest path to the medical wing.

The narrow corridor did not give her much room to move, and not a great deal of effective cover. As she passed the emptied boarding craft, its purple metal stark against the mostly grey confines of the frigate, she passed by a series of crew quarters that had since been abandoned. People had left in a hurry upon hearing the Commander's call for an evacuation, and without the slipspace drive working it had become clear that they would have to flat-out abandon ship and take their chances on Thrace.

Leah came to the door to the medical wing, which had closed during the emergency. She fiddled with the control panel by it, only for sparks to fly and the door itself to slide open slightly. She put a hand into the gap and used her strength to force the door along its housing, which to her was not very difficult, and in seconds she had pushed it open. Somehow the Covenant had got in here anyway, and in the medical ward there stood two Elites, one Minor and one Major, and they were accompanied by a pair of Grunts. The Elite Major was trying a computer terminal, one that would have opened the way into the rest of the medical wing, while the Minor watched his back. Upon seeing the Spartan, the alien spoke a warning in its guttural tongue and the Major swung about, plasma rifle in hand.

Leah had little time to react as she dived behind one of the slim medical beds ahead of her. The Grunts all scattered and opened fire, green plasma bolts flying across the room and scorching holes into the grey walls. The Elites hosed her position down with plasma rifle fire, the searing bolts of energy ripping apart the bed before her. Leah leaned around one side and returned fire, operating automatically as she took aim and planted a bullet into the head of the nearest Grunt. Its methane rebreather flew off of its devastated skull, spraying noxious green gas in its wake. She continued her volley, planting several rounds into the Elite Minor before the shields on the burly alien flared and failed.

Rising to a crouched position, she quickly reloaded, working the mechanisms on her M6D pistol expertly. To her, it was an action she performed without any thought, her hands going through the precise movements as they had done so hundreds of times before.

The Elite Minor let out an angered roar and began to charge at her recklessly, eager to please its superiors. Leah rose to her feet and planted three bullets in its chest, each gunshot almost deafening within the confines of the medical ward. Purple blood spurted from each impact and the Elite stumbled and fell, hitting the bed before falling off of the side and clunking upon the floor. As for the Elite Major, he was at the other end of the room, plasma rifle raised as he let fly with another volley. The two Grunts nearby were not letting up either, and Leah moved quickly as she vaulted over the stiff medical bed, past the terminal attached to it and behind a table connected to the wall. Plasma bolts clipped the top of the metal bench, scoring it with black marks and sending small blobs of molten metal flying.

Leah stuck her head above as she came up firing, her aim switching between the two Grunts with each shot. It took only a few shots for each one to go down, their armour plating doing little to stop the high-powered rounds. Fluorescent blue blood splattered onto the floor as they fell, leaving the Elite Major the only other living thing in the room. Being of the more experienced variety, he kept his position, hosing down the bench in front of Leah with plasma fire.

Leah emptied a few more rounds from her pistol, the bullets flattening against the energy shields that covered the alien's form. The force of the impacts were enough to make the alien stumble, and seizing on this chance, Leah climbed over the bench and rushed for the Elite, pulling her combat knife as she went. The Elite swung at her with its rifle-wielding hand, and she ducked under the attack before tackling the alien and sending it into the wall behind it. She heard the Elite let out a grunt as its back connected with the wall, and its plasma rifle fell from its grasp and clattered to the floor. Its hands went for her back and attempted to claw her off of him, but not before she had plunged her knife into its side, putting the blade deep into its gut. The alien howled in pain and with a shove he managed to push the Spartan off of him, but in doing so this caused Leah to retain her grip on the hilt of the knife, bringing it forward and slicing through more of its stomach.

Leah took a step back as the Elite's hands scrambled for the profusely bleeding gash that had been opened over about half of its stomach, having gone through the exposed under-suit. The Elite put a hand to its side, huffing in pain, and likely doing whatever it could to keep its insides from spilling out.

Leah did not give the alien a chance to make any further move. With her pistol in her right hand, she brought it up and fired a shot that went through the alien's helmet and splattered the contents of its skull on the wall behind it. This consisted of purple blood and bits of brain matter, primarily, and the now dead Sangheili landed on the floor with an unceremonious _clunk_. Barely offering the alien a second glance, Leah sheathed her blade and went over to the locked door that lead into the rest of the medical wing. Her biometrics were coded into the systems here, so it was simply a matter of placing her palm upon the scanner by the door for it to slide open. Behind was a short, narrow corridor which lead to the observation room and the quarantined medical section. No one else was here, as most of the medical staff would have cleared out early on during the evacuation. This had left the resident Forerunner locked up in the quarantine room, likely wondering what all the commotion was about.

Leah went over to the door of the quarantine room and activated the panel by it. The door slid open with a hiss, and she found herself looking into a familiar room in unfamiliar lighting. The dry white light of the medical wing had been replaced by dim, subdued red lights, casting much of the room in shadow. She raised her gun upon seeing this, and she cautiously stepped into the room. She had been sent here to get the Forerunner, and such an order would have been passed onto the medical staff. They would not have moved the Forerunner without her around, so he should still be in here.

As Leah walked inside, she became aware of movement to her right and she spun, only to find the gun being swatted from her grasp. A large form was upon her then, one hand grabbing her by the neck before it pushed her up against the wall. Her own hands went for her assailant, one swiping out at him in a blow that the assailant swatted away with startling ease. It took her a few seconds to realise that it was the Forerunner, Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience, dressed as he was in a bland grey set of hastily put together clothing, the kind that had come out of a machine only hours before. It was not surprising that they had not had any clothing lying around in his size and had needed to synthesise some.

"Human," Accord said. His voice had the slightest tinge of disgust to it, but there was also an edge of unease. "What are you doing here? Where are your friends?"

"I'm here to help," Leah said. She pried his fingers from her neck slightly, enough to allow her to breathe. "Let me go and I'll do just that."

Accord's blue eyes narrowed, and he seemed to consider her words. Slowly, he let her go, allowing her to step away from the wall. She noticed that Accord wore the set of boots from his armour, likely because that was the only kind of footwear they had for a Forerunner on the ship. The rest of his armour had been stored away elsewhere in the medical wing, and was likely still there.

"The ship is being boarded," Leah said. "I'm here to get you out."

"Boarded by who?" Accord's voice was deep and masculine, but without the gravelly quality she had come to expect from most aliens.

"People you don't want to hang out with." Leah motioned towards the door. "We need to go. There's really no time for talk." She knelt down and picked up her gun, doing so slowly as to make sure Accord could see exactly what she was doing in case he considered trying to choke her out again. As she took up the pistol, Accord was out of the door in a flash, causing Leah to stand up and quickly hurry after him.

"You looking for your armour?" She asked him. He stopped partway down the corridor. His face seemed a little stiff, but that was likely because he was an alien. He might have frowned at her, yet instead all he did was narrow his eyes again, ever so slightly. "Over here." She gestured to him to follow, and she took him into a small, nearby room where some of the more complicated medical equipment was stowed. The Forerunner's armour was stored in a cabinet here, ready to be taken to the nearest ONI base for further research. Unfortunately, it looked like there would be no 'further research' occurring in this field for some time to come.

Accord looked over the pieces inside. Underneath the flimsy grey clothing he had been given was his under-suit, and with that in mind he quickly took off his shirt and set parts of his armour chest piece upon it. He also took the leg-guards and gauntlets, but oddly enough he left the helmet behind.

"You're not taking it all?" Leah asked him, as she watched the Forerunner suit up.

"Most of its does not work," Accord replied. "It is only good for physical protection now, and the helmet without its systems would be more of a hindrance than a help." He spoke in a level tone, although Leah detected a hint of regret. She could only wonder what was going on in his mind, how he could possibly be coping with the knowledge that he was at least one-hundred thousand years outside of his time and the last of his kind.

Accord applied his armour quickly, before he turned to her and gave her a curt nod.

"We can leave," he said. Leah nodded in acknowledgement and lead him down the hall, back through the medical ward and into the corridor outside.

"There are escape pods down near the hangar, which is a few decks below," Leah said, as they hurriedly moved through the ship. "We should be able to get a way off there, before the Commander decides to bring down the ship."

There was no reply from Accord. He seemed content to follow her, even if Leah got the impression he might have been planning on cutting loose at the first opportunity. As he took her down a set of narrow, steep steps, she glanced back at him.

"My name is Leah, by the way. Senior Chief Petty Officer is my rank." It seemed a good opportunity to get the introductions out of the way, which would be necessary if they were going to be spending any period of time together. Accord looked at her, seemingly acknowledging this, but he did not say anything in reply. His mood was a dour one, although Leah figured this might have had something to do with what he had learned today.

However, Accord did speak, a few minutes later as they moved closer to the hangar.

"You are not like the others," he said. "I can see that. What are you?"

Leah kept up a steady pace as they traversed the ship's narrow, and now mostly empty, corridors. She looked back at him as she moved, and he kept pace up with her without difficulty.

"I'm what they call a 'Spartan'," she replied. "I've been enhanced. Physically augmented."

"You were bred to fight?"

"In a way." She did not feel like getting into any details. Now was hardly the time for that, yet Accord's face seemed to light up.

"Fighting has been my only purpose since my beginning," Accord said. They stopped at a set of double doors that opened into the hangar. The panel by them was blinking red, indicating that someone on the other side had activated one of the Pelican engines. Tapping at the keys at the small computer monitor, Leah navigated her way to the information concerning the escape pods.

"I was to protect my people from our enemies," Accord continued. "It seems I failed in that." He sounded fairly downbeat. Leah glanced at him, and saw the look of disappointment and regret in his eyes right away. She saw it easily, for she had seen it so many times before when she had looked into a mirror.

"It's hardly your fault," Leah said quickly. She could hardly believe she was trying to console a Forerunner, and even Accord seemed a little surprised at this judging from the way he tilted his head slightly. Her eyes went back to the computer screen, and she felt a deep sense of concern at the information she saw. "The escape pods down here are all gone." She shifted the display to another set of information. "But the Pelicans are still here. I'll just have to use the manual override…" She quickly inputted the codes she had been given when first being posted aboard this ship, given her high-rank and role as a Spartan. As she expected, the door slid open, revealing an airlock behind which in turn opened into the hangar. It was a matter of course to override the airlock door before they were able to enter the hangar bay, as the lockdown had engaged when one of the Pelicans had been set for take-off.

The hangar itself had been the scene of some chaos, and one of the Pelicans had indeed been activated. Its engines hummed and the rear ramp was wide open, revealing the familiar figure standing within who had his gun trained on the disparate pair who had just walked into the bay. Leah could hardly believe it, but she supposed if anyone was going to get out of a cell, it would be a character as weaselly as Jak'Talva.

"Ah, you've finally arrived!" Jak'Talva sounded positively pleased with himself. He held an M6C pistol in one hand, and a dead Elite Minor lay nearby in a pool of its own blood, its chest armour riddled with bleeding holes. The Skirmisher stepped down from the ramp and started towards the Spartan, his eyes going to Accord as both Leah and the Forerunner moved for the Pelican. "I was hoping someone might come by and lend me a hand in flying this thing. From what I've seen, the escape pods on this level have all been taken…"

"Where's your escort?" Leah looked around the hangar. A fire raged from an exposed section of the wall, where a panel had come off and numerous cables and wires were sparking. Jak'Talva would have been escorted from his cell by at least two assigned guards, and unsurprisingly both of them were nowhere to be seen. The fact that the Skirmisher had broken free of his binds and acquired a gun hardly surprised Leah. She had fought Skirmishers during the war, and even on the battlefields they had surprised her with their cunning and tenacity. They were certainly a step above the regular Kig-Yar, and Jak'Talva was all this plus a smug attitude and surprisingly good grasp of English.

"Unfortunately, they were killed," Jak'Talva said. "I had to make my way here by myself, all the while the Covenant tear this ship apart. It's almost as if they're searching for something…" His eyes drifted to Accord, who had been watching the alien with a scowl. That Forerunner sense of superiority was showing again, and this time he appeared to have little else but disdain for the Skirmisher.

"Who is he?" Accord asked.

"My name is Jak'Talva, and I am from the T'vaon colony world of Larashka," the Skirmisher replied. "You must be that weird alien the Spartan found…"

"I am a Forerunner." Accord said this bluntly, and he did not wait for Jak'Talva to finish talking.

"Of course you are." Jak'Talva did not sound entirely convinced, but nonetheless he took it all in stride. "Now, as for you, Spartan Leah, I require a means off of this ship." He pointed the gun at her, maintaining a strangely affable smile as he did so. To Leah, it looked like he was bearing all of his pointed teeth, his eyes bright and welcoming despite the gun in his hand. "These Pelicans are locked out to all but certain personnel. I can only assume you are among those personnel."

"You better put that gun away," Leah said, her voice stern. "Otherwise there'll be problems."

Jak'Talva, surprisingly, lowered the gun. He racked the slide with one hand, ejecting the round that had been in the chamber.

"Whatever you say," he replied. "I was down to my last bullet anyway." He slid the empty gun into a pocket on his coat and stepped aside as Leah made her way up the ramp, brushing by him as she moved to the cockpit. Behind her, Accord followed, eyeing the Skirmisher suspiciously as he passed him by.

Like most Spartans, Leah was trained as a pilot and had a decent amount of flight time in most standard UNSC craft. Pelicans had been among them, as had Longsword fighters, Falcons, Broadswords and the like. She entered the cockpit with the confidence expected of a Spartan, flicking the appropriate switches in order to prep the Pelican for take-off. Jak'Talva had gotten as far as turning on the engines before he had hit the lockouts, and Leah simply had to input her code to get through these. With that done, she flicked another switch that closed-up the rear ramp. The only issue now was the fact that the hangar bay was closed, and no amount of fiddling on her end was opening them. Something had gone wrong with the door mechanism, and Leah found herself thumbing the button on the Pelican's weapons systems. Commander Boone had had the foresight to ensure the two Pelicans they had were armed, and Leah certainly felt grateful for this.

"Are we leaving?" Jak'Talva stopped in the doorway behind her. Outside in the hangar, visible through the cockpit window, a trio of Kig-Yar wielding energy shields and plasma pistols appeared, rushing in from a door at the far end. Their attention went straight for the occupied Pelican, screeching commands at each other as they spread out amongst the crates and equipment before opening fire.

Green energy bolts glanced against the Pelican's armour as Leah put a hand to the weapons controls, grasping one particular stick as she flicked off the safety and armed the missile pods, one on the underside of each wing.

Accord sat down in the co-pilot's seat, his hefty frame making for a tight squeeze. He was in a sour mood, and he watched the whole situation play out without saying a word. It was apparent he was only just tolerating Jak'Talva's presence, and being forced to work with humans had been difficult enough. In a way, Leah would be relieved once she had him out of her care, but judging from what was happening around them that would be a fair while down the line.

Leah pushed a small red button on the stick and the missile pods fired, sending two missiles flying forth, streaking white contrails in their wake. They hit the floor near the Kig-Yar, and a large eruption of flame and smoke appeared with a roar. The whole ship seemed to shake around them and the hangar doors in the floor ahead were torn partially open, causing a sudden and dangerous decompression that sucked the two remaining Kig-Yar straight through it. Within seconds the atmosphere within the hangar was gone, and Leah let fly with another salvo from the Pelican's missile pods that tore enough of a hole in the doors for the craft to fly through. She did just this, releasing the brake on the Pelican and lifting it off of its moorings before pointing the nose for the hole ahead. Without further pause, she hit the throttle and sent the ship racing forwards. The engines did not roar in the vacuum, and the whole flight to an outside observer would have occurred in complete silence.

She let out a relieved breath as they rocketed into the black void of space. Thrace was a large brown disc that took up the top half of the cockpit viewport, and the Covenant cruiser was visible to starboard, silent and stalwart against the void. Jak'Talva let out a satisfied laugh and he playfully slapped the back of her chair.

"Excellent flying!" He exclaimed. Leah grabbed his arm with one hand, the movement fast enough to take him completely by surprise. Pulling him forwards, she raised her elbow and sent it straight into his head, hitting him right between his eyes with enough force to put him out cold. Jak'Talva crumpled into a heap on the floor, and with this done Leah felt some satisfaction. It was fleeting, because a flashing red light on the cockpit dashboard caught her attention, along with the alarmed beeping noise that was emitted with it.

"What is it?" Accord said this, glancing at the red light and likely attempting to make sense of what it meant.

"The cruiser's locking on," Leah replied. She started the Pelican towards Thrace, pushing the engines to their limit. Even now they were being drawn towards the planet by its gravitational pull. Behind them, the hulking purple cruiser tracked their movements. It remained still, but Leah could easily imagine some Elite on its bridge tapping in the commands to send a salvo of torpedoes after them. However, nothing happened. The beeping continued, but no torpedoes appeared on the Pelican's scanners. The cruiser let them go, and Leah found herself wondering just why this had happened. Even Accord seemed a little surprised, although it was hard to tell with his normally stoic expression. Did Forerunners ever smile?

"What do we do now?" Accord asked. Leah eased the Pelican into a re-entry position, as they began skirting the top of Thrace's atmosphere. She had done this sort of thing many times before, and her hands operated the Pelican's controls expertly.

"I know a place we can go." She eyed the display before her, where the Pelican's scanners pinged back anything they detected. The UNSC _Light and Shadow_ was still where it had been left, despite the damage it had received, and from Thrace's atmosphere came the transponder signals of several escape pods. Chances are Carson's people would be upon those escaped personnel soon enough, and Leah considered her approach carefully. Carson's people had likely detected the Pelican, which meant they would have to dump this ship somewhere and proceed on foot. She looked to Accord, who had been watching her carefully.

"How well do Forerunners fare in the desert?" She asked him.

"Well enough." Accord spoke bluntly, and he glanced down at his mish-mashed outfit, of flimsy UNSC-issue uniform material and defunct Forerunner armour.

"I hope so, because we're going to need to walk a fair way."


	13. Sangheili in a Strange Land

**Sangheili in a Strange Land**

This world was one that Davam could hardly stand, and yet it was a necessity for him to be here. The humans called it 'Thrace', a name that was apparently derived from that of a region on their home-world, not that Davam cared much for it. He had been on Thrace for longer than he had planned, and the planet itself was beginning to grate on his nerves far more than he ever thought it would.

It was not the humans he had much of an issue with. Not as much as he had thought he would, anyway. He had killed plenty in the war, and he had lost many brothers-in-arms to humans during the war as well. Yet, even with that in mind he could not bring himself to hate the species as a whole. The fact that he knew that the Sangheili race had been turned against them based on the lies of the Prophets might have been a factor, that and he held a grudging respect for humans in general. However, this did not mean he had to like Thrace, particularly the main settlement known as 'Deckar's Stand', and today had so far made him despise the place even more.

Narsa was missing. Davam had used what little human money they had acquired to rent accommodations in one of the poorer sections of the desert city. This poor neighbourhood was known as 'Bird Town' by the humans here, and with good reason: it was where the majority of Kig-Yar settlers lived, and there were a surprising lot of them. Davam might have had some kind of respect for the humans, but for the Kig-Yar? He hated them. They were mostly selfish thieves and opportunists, and their reputation as pirates was well deserved.

The room he rented was on the upper floor of a small shop run by an elderly human man who had barely noticed he was Sangheili, and was apparently untroubled with having two of them live above his shop. He had happily taken the money Davam had offered him, which was enough to cover the rent for one human month. From there, Davam and Narsa had worked to accumulate their information regarding Arnvar 'Sraom and to prepare for the inevitable battle with him and those who followed him. Davam had trained Narsa on a daily basis since their arrival here, which had been weeks ago. Today, however, Narsa had woken early and left while Davam had still dozed, and now the older Sangheili found himself roaming the narrow streets for any sign of his son. He doubted it would be difficult, as there were very few Sangheili on Thrace, and the Kig-Yar here knew better than to get in his way. They did watch him from a distance, and the Kig-Yar who inhabited these streets spoke in their native tongues as he went by them, likely speaking of how much they hated him and his kind, perhaps even plotting to kill him at some point. Still, Davam walked through the streets, the buildings on either side casting the alleys he explored in shadow, providing some relief from this world's harsh sun.

He wore much of his Ranger armour, save for the helmet. He carried an energy blade and plasma rifle, and he moved with purpose as he recalled one individual they had met here during their stay, the same one who had provided them with the last piece of information they had needed to be sure of their purpose here.

Arnvar 'Sraom would be coming to Thrace, and it was for this reason today that Davam walked the streets in search of his son. When Arnvar would come, their informant had not been certain. Still, if there was one thing the dishonourable Sangheili who had served as their informant could tell him, it was the location of his son. Indeed, Davam was certain that Narsa was his boy, and he was all the more certain as to who the mother was.

There was a set of stairs at the end of one narrow alley which lead to the base of a three storey apartment building. Here, the stairs took Davam to a rusty metal door that opened into a sort of basement. However, Davam had to go by the doorman, who opened a small hatch on the door from the other side upon Davam knocking.

"You again?" The middle-aged human man who looked through the hatch sounded more annoyed than surprised. "What do you want, hinge-head?"

"Vetje," Davam replied. "I need to speak with him."

The man seemed to think this over for a moment.

"I'll see if he's around," he said, before he slid shut the hatch and disappeared. Davam found himself waiting for about five minutes before the hatch slid open again, and the human's face appeared.

"He'll talk to you," he said. With that, he took a step back and unlocked the door, opening it for the Sangheili to walk on through.

There was a narrow concrete corridor beyond, which in turn lead down a flight of steps and into a much larger and mostly grey room below. Here, a wire fence had been erected that surrounded a circular space of about fifteen metres in diameter. Tables and chairs were on the outside, some occupied by a mostly human clientele, and a bar at the corner served drinks. However, one table was occupied by a burly Sangheili in a black vest and similarly coloured leggings. He motioned to Davam as he entered the hall, all the while two mean looking Kig-Yar emerged from a door at the end of the hall and made their way for the caged-off area.

Vetje 'Kelram was slightly younger than Davam, and had once been a Major in the Covenant military. Now, he made his living by fighting in the cage against all manner of opponents, winning fame and money in a very un-Sangheili lifestyle. Davam found Vetje's choice of occupation despicable and dishonourable, and it irked Davam all the more so that Vetje seemed to enjoyed it. What true Sangheili would live such a mercenary lifestyle?

Davam did not sit down. He hardly wanted to give Vetje that satisfaction, and so remained standing across the table from the other Sangheili. In the cage, the two Kig-Yar were rearing up for a fight, entering into a ready posture with their claws out and their teeth beared. Spectators had clustered around the cage, and a shady looking human with a strange accent was taking bets.

"I did not expect to see you again, Davam," Vetje said. "You made your distaste for my lifestyle apparent the last time we met."

"You are a disgrace, and that fact has not changed since our last meeting." Davam was hardly one to keep his opinions to himself, especially if they related to someone so unfitting of being a Sangheili such as Vetje.

"My whole clan is a disgrace," Vetje replied. "I know you might not be up on current affairs, but my clan was forced off of Sanghelios for supporting Jul 'Mdama. A man must make a living somehow, and that could very well mean moving away from the traditions he once held dear. Surely this world has affected you? I know it has to me, in a way I did not expect it to." With one hand, he clasped a large mug containing some foul smelling beverage, and promptly gulped down a sizeable helping of it before taking the mug from his mouth. "You stay here as long as I have, Ranger, and you will change. You can mark my words."

"I would rather not." Davam narrowed his eyes in a way that made his contempt of Vetje apparent. "There is little stopping me from striking you down now, save for the fact that I need information from you."

"Did you not already get some? Last you saw me, you made it clear you were on some kind of personal vendetta. I can tell you now that Baron 'Sraom's forces have landed on this world, but they have wisely stayed away from the populated areas. Even they do not think highly of their chances against a heavily armed human population."

This news surprised Davam, although he did not show it.

"He's here?"

"Like I told you he would be." Vetje sounded almost smug. "Now you can go off and take your boy along with you to fulfil whatever pointless vendetta you have against 'Sraom. Of course, I hardly think that the two of you will stand much of a chance against a few hundred heavily armed soldiers. You might consider waiting for the humans here to organise an attack…"

Davam slammed his fist down on the table at that point, silencing Vetje. Only a few heads turned at the noise, as most of the attention of the patrons here was on the brutal fight currently taking place within the cage. Both Kig-Yar were laying into each other without quarter, and their claws had drawn blood.

"Enough of your nonsense, Vetje. Where is my son?" The question seemed to amuse Vetje, who raised both brows in an almost mock expression of surprise.

"Your son? I had a feeling that the whelp was yours. He has your eyes, and the resemblance is uncanny." Vetje gave the Sangheili equivalent of a smile, bearing the teeth of his lower mandibles. "You should keep him on a leash. He might get himself in trouble…"

"Do you know where he is?"

"I know where you _may_ find him. You probably won't like it."

"Where is he?" Davam's patience had worn thin, all the more so for Vetje, whom he felt nothing but contempt for.

"He came to me the other day, asking me questions," Vetje replied. "He even watched me fight in that cage, and I must add, he watched me with very keen interest. As for the questions, they were fairly innocuous, and I was happy to provide him with the information he was after. Your boy is much more open minded than you might think…"

Davam leaned across the table, peering straight into the irritatingly smug Sangheili's orange eyes. And Vetje remained smug, despite this act of intimidation from Davam.

"Where is he?" This was the last time Davam would ask the question. He was already well on his way to bringing out his blade and severing Vetje's head from his neck. The disgrace deserved nothing less. All Vetje did was lean back in his chair, and in a very human manner, put his hands behind his head and beamed that irritating smile straight at Davam.

"Calm down, Ranger. I'll tell you. There's no need to get violent." He nodded in the direction of the fight happening in the cage, where one of the Kig-Yar was in the process of stabbing a claw into the left eye of his opponent. This move was met by many agonized screeches, whereas the mostly human crowd around the cage started whooping and cheering at the brutality on display.

"There is enough violence here as it is," Vetje added.

* * *

Perhaps the most despicable place in Deckar's Stand, Davam found himself in a mostly human neighbourhood but also within the poorer areas. Here, on a street corner, was a three-storey building that at a glance looked like a fairly average hotel. Vetje had made it clear that it was anything but, and Davam did not hesitate to barge in through the open front door and into the bar area that took up much of the ground floor. There were several people seated around, and numerous human females in revealing clothing who were giving these people some very inappropriate attention. Davam's entrance caused just about every head to turn his way, and a few people got up and hurried out upon seeing the Sangheili enter. Davam did not like being in here, the whole place disgusted him, but he pressed on and put his notions of honour aside, at least temporarily, as he stormed up to the bar counter where a human woman in a black semi-revealing outfit was standing. She hardly reacted to his approach, and instead eyed him up with the slightest of smiles.

"A Sangheili? Two in one day must be a record." She leaned towards him a little, one eyebrow cocked. "What is it that draws you hinge-heads here? Sangheili girls too rough for you?"

"I am looking for someone," Davam said. He peered down at her, the human woman practically tiny compared to his hulking eight foot tall frame. "I was told that he is here."

"You mean the Sangheili who came in earlier?" The woman smiled at him. "The one who paid in cash right upfront?"

"Where is he?" Davam was much easier on the human woman than he had been with Vetje. He could tolerate the dishonourable members of another species, but when he saw one of his own like Vetje, it struck a chord within him that brought him close to reacting violently. This human woman might have been a degenerate, but he could at the very least tolerate her enough to speak evenly with her.

"Normally I wouldn't tell you, because it's kind of our policy to give our clients their privacy," the woman said. She looked him up and down and slowly shook her head, letting out a sigh as she did so. "As for you, I think we can make an exception. You look like someone who would tear this place apart and not even feel bad about it." She pointed to a set of stairs at the far end of the room. "Go upstairs and down the corridor. Your friend's in the third room on the left."

Davam nodded in acknowledgement before he turned and left the woman to her own business, heading for the stairs. He did not know exactly what to expect when he found Narsa, but he had a good idea. As he went upstairs, he had to duck his head under a doorway as the building had not been built of Sangheili specifications, for obvious reasons. His armoured frame took up most of the narrow hallway he came to, and he had to squeeze past one startled woman who was heading in the opposite direction.

Most of the doors up here were closed, and he could hear noises and voices from within a few of them. The corridor itself was a mostly bland beige in colour, with cheap carpet underfoot that went over creaking floorboards. Each step Davam took was almost thunderous within the confines of the corridor, his heavy frame making his every movement within the very human-sized building both awkward and noisy. He finally came to the door that the woman downstairs had told him of, and he was unsurprised to find the door both closed and locked. It was a flimsy wooden door, locked with a crude keypad mechanism, and Davam leaned against it slightly as he tested it. The wood audibly creaked, and he knew then he would have little difficulty forcing it open.

He paused there for a moment, and placed his head close to the door. He could make out voices, and noises, among them Narsa's noticeably deep voice complete with his somewhat uneven knowledge of the human language spoken on Thrace. This was among whatever the human female with him was saying, as from what Davam could hear she was not really speaking any words, rather making noises that indicated the kind of activity Davam had hoped to not find his son in the process of carrying out.

He took a step back before he delivered to the door a sharp and powerful kick. The wood cracked easily, and the section where the lock had been connected to the door and the doorway tore away, sending splinters flying. The door itself flung open, not that the two on the bed inside paid him immediate attention. Narsa was as naked as the day he was born, as was the woman on top of him, and they both seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. The human woman was practically petite against his form, yet somehow she was making it work, much to Narsa's delight.

Davam did what he could to reel in his disgust as he walked in, aware that another very naked woman was on the other side of the bed. Apparently Narsa had taken advantage of the human currency Davam had provided him and paid for more than just the one, which made it all the more difficult for Davam to contain his rising and immense disgust. The one who was currently not coupling with his son was the first to look at the intruder, and she fell off the bed screaming.

Davam stormed in and shoved the other woman off of his son. She ran out of the room, shouting something he could not entirely make sense of. As for the other one, she was cowering in the corner, terrified at the sight of the armoured Sangheili Ranger as he grabbed Narsa by the arm and tore him off of the bed.

"Get your clothes," Davam barked. Narsa did a doubletake when he saw the older Sangheili, and almost stumbled back in surprise when he realised who had just caught him in the act.

"Davam?" Narsa uttered. Davam did not wait any longer. He pushed his son out into the corridor, before he snatched up Narsa's discarded clothing and followed him out into the hall. By now everyone else on the floor was out of their rooms to investigate the noise, and several startled women watched the pair go by.

Davam thrust the clothing into Narsa's arms before grabbing him behind the neck and pulling him along. The Ranger did what he could to contain his anger, but the thought that his son would seek out the most despicable elements of human society for his own selfish pleasure…

"What is wrong with you?" Davam practically shouted the words into the youngster's face. "What were you thinking?" He spoke this in Sangheili, and Narsa did not reply right away. Instead, he uttered a few parts of different words, as he struggled to put together a proper sentence.

"You would let that disgrace lead you astray like this?" Davam took his son downstairs, in plain view of everyone here, treating them to a sight very few humans were likely to see. "I should beat you for this transgression…"

"What transgression?" Narsa bundled his clothing close to his chest, as he turned to Davam with a look of defiance on his face. "I am old enough to make my own decisions. You act like you're my father…"

"Because I _am_ ," Davam interrupted. He had not let Narsa in on this information before, so the look of surprise on Narsa's face was very much genuine.

They both left the building then, walking out onto a fairly quiet side-street. Narsa quickly bundled on his leggings, almost embarrassed at himself despite the very few humans who had seen him naked.

"You were hardly present at the keep," Narsa said, his tone somewhat more reserved now. Apparently the revelation had quelled whatever rebellious streak he had been building. "How could you be my father?"

The street hardly seemed the appropriate place for this kind of conversation, but Davam thought it best to be out with it now, rather than head all the way back to their apartment for it.

"Your mother was a friend of mine," Davam said. He brought his voice down to a more acceptable level, despite the anger surging through him. "Her husband was killed many years ago in battle, before either of them were able to have children. Her husband had been a friend of mine as well, a capable soldier who served his people proudly. You, Narsa, are the product of a less conventional relationship than most."

"What do you mean?" Narsa squinted his eyes against the harsh glare of the afternoon sun.

"What I mean, is that when your mother was made a widow, I was one myself. I have had three children before you, Narsa, with a loving wife. Two were killed in battle many years ago, both sons, whereas my daughter married into a wealthy bloodline and I have only infrequent meetings with her. As for your mother, she approached me a few years after her husband died." Davam had not told anyone this particular story, and it seemed right for Narsa to be the first one to hear it. "A Sangheili woman is expected to remain faithful to their husband, even in death. A childless widow is a sad thing in our society, but there are ways to get around such traditions without crossing any lines. And that was what your mother did: she saw me as a friend and fellow widow, and she came to me once and asked me to give her a child." Davam paused for a moment, seeing the look in Narsa's eyes change, as he realised the truth of the story. "I obliged her, as she was a dear friend, and I did not wish for her to be without some joy in her life. You are that joy, Narsa. I may not have been there to serve as your father, but your mother was an intelligent woman. She adhered to our clan's traditions in your upbringing, putting you forward to be raised by an uncle instead."

"She's dead," Narsa said. "I saw her die. During the attack."

"I knew you were among the many children I once instructed," Davam added. He had come to terms with his friend's death some time before. "But I could not know which one, as it often is in our society. No child will be more favoured than another because of perceived familial relationships. Now things are different. We are the last of our clan, and we have a duty to honour. The right of revenge. You deserve that right as much as I do, and we must see it through, no matter the cost. Even if we die in the process."

"I really don't feel like dying…" Narsa began, but Davam was quick to interrupt him.

"We cannot allow 'Sraom to get away with his crimes. Everyone of our friends, our family, they were all killed by his treachery. He must die, and we must be the ones to kill him, to honor the memories of the fallen and to carry out a right that has been engrained in the traditions of our clan for generations. Since you seem to like the humans so much, I think one of their sayings would be most appropriate here."

"What would that be?"

"An eye for an eye," Davam said simply.

* * *

The two returned to their apartment above the human shop. Here, in the two-room flat, Davam took Narsa to a purple metal chest of Covenant design that was in one corner of the room. Narsa, now fully dressed, watched him with some slight unease as Davam used a small metal key to open the chest and reveal what was within.

"Baron 'Sraom has brought his forces to this world," Davam said. "He will not be far behind. We must find him, and we must kill him." He spoke with conviction, as his mind was set on the task at hand. Inside the chest were several weapons of Covenant design, among them plasma rifles, energy swords and carbines. He handed a carbine to Narsa, along with several of the glowing green bulbs that served as magazines for the weapon. Davam took another blade, and several plasma grenades. He was content with his plasma rifle, but to be sure he took another one and clipped it to the armour at thigh. Two was better than one, in this case.

"He has landed his soldiers far into the desert," Davam said. Vetje had been fairly forthcoming with this information, and it was likely the disgraceful Sangheili was hoping Davam would get himself killed on what Vetje had described as a 'foolhardy and pointless crusade'. "We will head out there and perform reconnaissance. The humans have also set up their own encampment near their positions, so for now there will be two sets of foes who we will have to contend with." He could see the anxiety on Narsa's face. The only fighting this young male had seen was when his keep had been attacked and his friends and family slaughtered, an attack he had spent cowering somewhere. They would be going into something perhaps even more dangerous, in some ways.

Davam had trained Narsa over the last few weeks, and even before that, during their lengthy trip from Sanghelios and across the frontier of Sangheili-controlled space on their hunt for Arnvar 'Sraom. Thrace was to be their last stop, by the look of how circumstances were piling up, and their quarry was within reach. Davam knew full well what they would be going up against, with the hundreds of soldiers at 'Sraom's command. By all looks the Sangheili and self-styled 'Baron' was loyal to the cause of Jul 'Mdama, but some of the information Davam had gathered seemed to suggest that Baron 'Sraom himself had gone rogue. One rumour was that he had allied himself to a San'Shyuum, one of the few who had escaped High Charity during the Flood outbreak upon the former (and now destroyed) Covenant capital. Davam had heard many rumours about many things, but he had followed the trail of leads and clues to Thrace, and this had been the right move. 'Sraom was here, and soon enough he would be dead, slain by Davam's hand. Or Narsa's, as unlikely as it seemed. If Narsa achieved that, Davam would be one very proud father.

"Do we have a plan?" Narsa asked. He weighed the carbine in his hands, and the look on his face seemed to indicate he was not entirely comfortable with it.

"As I said, we will perform reconnaissance. From there, we formulate a plan of attack. 'Sraom is vain, but he is also one to lead his soldiers from the front. If he has not landed with his soldiers already, he will most likely do so very soon. Once we are sure of his location, we will prepare our attack."

"You make it sound so easy."

Davam frowned at his son. Narsa was not entirely aware of just how many suicide missions his father had survived, and hunting down 'Sraom, compared to some of those other missions, seemed almost simple in comparison. If Davam could kill 'Sraom, he would die a very happy man. His one last act of penance, destroying a disgraceful member of his species who still adhered to the old Covenant ways. A good act to go out on, and as with any act of revenge, a satisfying one.

"I do not believe it will be easy," Davam said. "But our cause is righteous. I feel, that if there is indeed a higher power in this universe, that it may very well favour us over someone like Baron 'Sraom." He spoke the name and its attached moniker with significant disgust. 'Sraom certainly owned a lot of land on Sangheili colony worlds, and he had even gone as far as to grant himself the title of 'Baron', a deliberate throwback to a distant era of Sangheili history which had been far more brutal and feudal than it was now. It was simply added evidence of the man's vanity.

"We will leave now," Davam said. "Hopefully we shall have enough human money to rent one of their vehicles, considering your last escapade likely emptied our coffers considerably."


	14. An Old Friend

**An Old Friend**

Leah had been in deserts before. It seemed that a lot of the resource rich human colonies were often the least hospitable, and compared to some Thrace was practically a tourist destination. The sun, at its midday point, was blistering. This was made all the more so by the way the heat radiated from the mostly light brown sand underfoot, ensuring that anything not in shadow was bathed from bottom to top in what felt like a sheer wave of heat.

Jak'Talva trudged behind the Spartan and her partially-armoured Forerunner companion. He seemed to be taking the heat worse than everyone else, either that or the fact that his hands were tied in front of him had given him an excuse to be more annoying than usual. The trio had been walking for close to half an hour now, with only a bottle of water to share between them, as that had been all that was loaded on the Pelican. The Pelican itself was parked on a dry lake-bed far from Deckar's Stand, with most of its fuel depleted. Flying it around in atmosphere for any prolonged period would only draw the attention of Carson's people, and one Pelican might not stand up well to automated anti-air defences and the heavily armed and armoured Pelicans that Carson's pilots used.

"Spartan Leah, just how much farther must we walk?" Jak'Talva asked from behind her. Leah had his bound hands tied to a rope that she yanked behind her, ensuring that the Skirmisher was on a tight leash. She doubted he would run off even if he could, as he would only get lost in the desert and probably die slowly. He stayed with his captors because it was his best chance of survival, and if there was one thing Leah was sure about Jak'Talva, he was selfish.

"Spartan Leah," Accord said. He was a man of few words, so when he did speak Leah made sure to pay extra attention. "Would you allow me to kill the bird?" He was of course referring to Jak'Talva, who noticeably rolled his yellow eyes upon hearing the Forerunner's question.

"He's my prisoner," Leah said. "And under my protection. You can kill him, but you would have to deal with me first." She turned her head to him, as he kept pace alongside her a few metres away.

Accord seemed to consider this, before returning his gaze to the desert plains ahead of them and leaving the matter at that. Leah found his unspoken respect of her odd, but it may very well have to do with the fact that she had essentially rescued him. Just following orders, as she so often did as a Spartan, and Accord likely knew that as well. Still, he must have seen that his chances of survival in what was a strange new galaxy to him were greatly increased with Leah around.

"Spartan Leah," Jak'Talva said. "Would you allow me to beat this pompous, uptight creature to within an inch of his life?" He was no doubt referring to Accord, who simply glanced at him with a look that showed little change from the norm, save for the way his eyes seemed to zero in on the Skirmisher.

"He's a crushing bore," Jak'Talva added, as if as an afterthought.

"Shut up," Leah said simply. She hardly looked back at the Skirmisher she tugged along, as the trio traversed a short hill and came to a vantage point that overlooked a set of sweeping hills and, further on the horizon, Deckar's Stand itself. It looked like a dark smattering of blocks from this distance, with smoke pluming from numerous chimneys and smokestacks. The tell-tale signs of human habitation, Leah thought.

"Civilisation!" Jak'Talva exclaimed, cheerful. "Finally!" He turned to Leah, holding out his hands to her as if expecting her to cut the ropes that tied them together. "If you let me free now, we can go our own ways without any hard feelings…"

Leah reached out and put an arm around the Skirmisher's head, pulling him close in a headlock that pressed hard upon his windpipe. The feathers on his head smelled like city pigeons, although with that in mind Leah realised that she was unlikely to smell any good herself given all the physical exertion so far and the lack of opportunity to take a shower.

"You're staying with me." She spoke close to the Skirmisher's head, keeping her grip tight as to keep him from speaking. "And you'll speak only when spoken to, is that understood?"

He emitted a grunt in an attempt to reply, yet even Leah could tell that the grunt was far from the 'yes' she had been expecting.

"Also, refrain from trying to curse me in your own language," she said. "I have had a long day so far, and it's likely to get longer at this rate. My patience is wearing thin, which might surprise you, since I'm a Spartan and we're all supposed to be perfect little soldiers." She paused for a moment, before leaning in close to where she assumed the Skirmisher's ear was. "This Spartan is skating on thin ice, and I've got no idea what will happen when it breaks. That should scare you, Jak. I know it scares me. Not even I know what I'm capable of when I'm in a bad mood." She let him go then, leaving him to consider her words. Oddly enough, he did not say anything, and instead did what he could to compose himself, glancing at the Forerunner as he did so.

Accord sounded almost pleased when he spoke up then.

"I still think we should kill him," he stated, matter-of-factly. "He is a burden, and from what it appears he is little more than a common criminal. And criminals in the ecumene often received the death penalty."

"Us twenty-sixth century humans do things a little differently," Leah replied, turning to face the Forerunner. "Due process, among other things. Rule of law. Jak'Talva is an arms smuggler, one of the most prominent along the frontier, and he's been selling arms on a regular basis to Colonel Carson's forces."

Accord tilted his head slightly. Leah had since worked this out as his 'care to elaborate?' look.

"Colonel Carson is a former soldier of the UNSC," Leah said. "And the UNSC is a branch of the United Earth Government which handles affairs relating to space travel and interstellar warfare. Carson took control of Thrace from the Frontier Colonial Authority several years ago, and ever since then he's been building himself a fairly sizeable army. For defensive purposes, he claims, but the UNSC wants to re-establish its rule on these far colonies. That means that somehow, Carson has to go." She thought she had boiled it all down well enough, so that even someone who had been frozen in stasis for one-hundred thousand years might understand it. Accord did not show his understanding on his face, and it was here that Leah tilted her head slightly, curious.

"You never smile?" She asked him.

"We have no use for such a gesture," Accord replied. By 'we' he likely meant the Forerunners as a whole. Apparently, the implication of this struck him then, as he abruptly fell silent, once again reminded of his status as the last of his race. Leah did feel sorry for him, it was hard not to, and the thought that he could very well end up a science experiment with ONI did rub her the wrong way. She had done a lot of things most might consider 'bad', and she had always followed orders, but having worked with ONI these last few months had changed her mind about some things. Indeed, it had shed a lot of light on what the UNSC's most clandestine organization did behind the scenes. Her circumstances were unique, when compared to other Spartans in general, whether they be her fellow II's or the III's, even the IV's who were being dispatched about UNSC space with increasing frequency.

"I know someone who lives near here," Leah said. "We can trust him. He'll keep us off of Carson's radar until the recovery team comes for us."

Accord turned to her again, and the uncertainty was clear in his eyes. For someone who was one-hundred thousand years beyond his own time, he was keeping his apparent stress very well controlled. Leah did not know how she might have coped in that situation, even as a Spartan. Some things people could not train for, and even for Accord, who had been bred for fighting, must have been having some kind of difficulty with the kind of situation he had found himself in.

"A friend of yours?" Jak'Talva asked this, in a somewhat more subdued tone, as if he fully expected her to punch him. She might have, but she did not want to mess him up too badly. He was a prisoner after all, a criminal she had worked hard to catch, and she would not kill him. There were rules to follow when one was escorting a captured criminal, one wanted by the UNSC.

"Like I said, we can trust him." She started down the hill, heading in the general direction of Deckar's Stand. "Come on, I'll lead us there. I think he'll be surprised to see what kind of company I'm keeping nowadays." This was a little joke on her part, not that she laughed at it, and as for her two companions, neither said anything. Accord was likely only confused by the statement, and Jak'Talva was in too much of a sour mood to say anything witty.

* * *

Nolte's house, modest as it was (to the extent that it was simply a glorified prefabricated rectangle made from a durable material), was as Leah had left it. The grizzled Marine veteran had given her the first genuine conversation in a long time, whereas most of the time it was simply her receiving orders and speaking to superiors and subordinates about missions and assignments. Nolte had provided something far more grounded. That was one thing she realised she needed, now more than ever, as she came into his front yard with an out of place Forerunner and criminal Skirmisher in tow. This was one story Nolte would probably love to hear.

The man himself did not open the door as the trio approached. He was likely napping, or sitting in front of the television. He seemed the shut-in sort, and Leah was the first to go up to the door while her companions hung back a short distance. Accord had fashioned a hood out of some scraps of the grey synthetic uniform he had been forced to put on during his stay on the UNSC _Light and Shadow_ , and he used it to cover his head and neck from the glare of the sun, which was likely harsh on his pale blue-tinged skin.

Leah knocked on the door, feeling the noise reverberate through the prefab structure. After a moment, the inside door swung open, and Nolte's face adopted a slightly bemused look when he saw the Spartan in the doorway for the second time in as many days.

"Leah, what are you doing here?" He offered her a friendly smile. "Can't stay away from old Nolan, huh?"

"Believe it or not, but I need your help," Leah said. Nolte opened the security door and held it for her, allowing her entry. As he heard this latest statement, he cocked a brow her way, no doubt surprised by what she had said.

"A Spartan needs my help?" Nolte let the words hang for a moment, before he looked outside at the two odd companions she had picked up since her last visit. "Why? Is there another war on?"

"The war never really ended." She turned to Accord, and motioned him to come forward. He did so, his bulky frame taking up the entire doorway. He had to bend down to stop himself from bumping his head, and he had some trouble squeezing into the narrow confines of the hallway. Nolte's eyes noticeably widened when he saw this unusual specimen, and Leah might have found his reaction worthy of a smile if circumstances were not so serious.

"What the hell is he supposed to be?" Nolte asked. Accord eyed him cautiously, but remained characteristically quiet.

From behind him came Jak'Talva, his hands still tied. Nolte found the Skirmisher's presence apparently worthy of a smile, and he was practically beaming when he turned to Leah with it.

"Christ almighty, it's a real menagerie you brought with you." He closed the door behind Jak'Talva, but not before glancing outside to make sure that Leah had not dragged along any further unusual characters. The group shuffled into the living room, and Jak'Talva was the first to sit down, finding himself what was likely Nolte's favourite and most comfortable chair. This earned him a glare from the grizzled veteran, but nonetheless the man's attention was very much focused on Leah and the Forerunner.

"Again, Leah." He nodded towards Accord. "What is he?"

"He's a Forerunner," Leah said simply. The existence of the Forerunners was pretty well known by now, the details however were often kept under wraps by the likes of ONI.

"You mean the people who built those giant ring things?"

"Yes. But this one, his name is Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience. He's actually from several thousand years _before_ those rings were built." Leah crossed her arms over her chest as she moved into the cluttered living room, leaning against one chair as she turned to Accord. "In fact, he's well out of his own time."

"He's a time traveller?" Nolte was not asking this jokingly. He seemed to seriously be considering the notion that this ancient alien had somehow travelled in time. In a way, he was right.

"He was frozen in time," Leah said.

"A prototype stasis field," Accord put in. He looked to Nolte with some odd curiosity, as if he found the human strange somehow. "It somehow protected me from the effects of the rings you mentioned. Now I am here, the last of my kind."

"That sounds pretty heavy." Nolte went over to a small refrigerator in the corner, the type expressly reserved for storing drinks. Pulling open the door, he retrieved a can of beer, before standing back up and cracking it open. "I take it there's people after him? You wouldn't bring him here otherwise. Something went wrong, and you came to me because I'm the only person on this rock you can trust." He directed this statement to Leah, who nodded her head slightly. He was right, of course. Nolan was indeed the most trustworthy person she had met on Thrace, even more so than the ONI personnel she had been working for the last few months.

"We just need somewhere to hideout for a while," Leah said. "It's a lot to ask, since we've got Carson's people and the Covenant here. If Carson found out about Accord, he would want him and he wouldn't stop until he got hold of him. Even if it's to use as a bargaining tool against the UNSC."

"I heard the Covenant had landed," Nolte said. He did not sound too concerned, reciting the information as if it were everyday events. "But they haven't touched the populated settlements. It's only a small force, according to the local news. A beachhead, as they're claiming, a way to get everyone riled up for a battle." He shrugged, and took a sip from his beer. "Here I was thinking living here would get me away from those alien religious whack-jobs." He glanced to Jak'Talva. "No offense, birdman."

"I was never officially involved with the Covenant," Jak'Talva replied, in an amiable tone.

"Never thought I'd see one of the birds speak English that well," Nolte commented. He returned his attention to Leah. "So, tell me, you just want to hide out here? All the while it could bring down hell on us all, and probably get my house wrecked?"

Leah could admire Nolte's blunt nature. He took everything in his stride, likely because he had lived long enough and fought hard enough to no longer care as much as he might have when he had been younger. Leah wished she could be as laidback as him, but being raised as a Spartan had given her a much more serious outlook on things, especially if they involved Insurrectionists or the Covenant.

"We just need to wait a while. I've got the SOS transponder from the Pelican we took here, and that'll bring my people to us once they get organized enough."

"Your people? You actually mean who I think you mean?"

"Yes. ONI." Leah, once again, answered bluntly. Nolte narrowed his eyes, took a gulp of his beer, and gave her a look that was a mix of concern and one that more or less said, _I should have expected nothing less_.

"You want to bring the spooks round?" Nolte let out a resigned sigh. "I don't like it, but if it's what you want, what you _need_ to do, then go ahead. I won't stop you. We're friends, you and I. And the spooks have nothing on me to arrest me for, and if they try anything I'll happily start shooting." He paused for a moment, thinking it over. Leah could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, as he weighed up the pros and cons of helping her and her odd companions. Accord had since wandered into the nearby kitchen, and there he helped himself to the water from the tap. That was one thing Leah had not thought about: just what did the Forerunner eat?

"They shouldn't be too long," Leah said. "And they'll get us out of your hair."

"Or they'll drag me along because I know too much," Nolte said, with a hint of sarcasm. However, it was all too likely a scenario, and even Leah knew this. She had never trusted spooks, and she knew now that she had made a mistake in agreeing to this assignment with them. Now, she was feeling even greater doubts, and she found herself second-guessing this entire plan. Of course, she could not see any other option. If there was another option, she would take it. As it stood, ONI would be her only other allies here, and the best people to take Accord. Yet even thinking that, she was not convinced.

"You really sure about this Leah?" Nolte asked. Had he seen the doubt on her face? In her eyes? Maybe. He had surprised her in the past with how easy he was to pick up on her emotions, despite how well she kept them contained. Most ordinary people would have considered Spartans as socially awkward killing machines. In a way, they were right. Nolte, on the other hand, had actually become a friend to Leah during the time they had fought together against the Covenant on Earth, and comradeship like that did not disappear easily. They would help each other, no matter what, and they trusted one another with their lives.

"No, I'm not." She should have been. She was a Spartan, and going into a situation half-cocked was likely to get people killed. Still, for the first time in a long while, she was genuinely conflicted. She was going along with protocol in a situation like this, as was described to her by Commander Boone before they had set off for Thrace. If the frigate was ever lost, Leah was to use any means to make contact with any ONI operatives or UNSC personnel in general so as to be picked up. She had no idea whether or not the _Light and Shadow_ had been destroyed. It had taken some damage, and most of the crew had evacuated, but had Boone proceeded with the self-destruct? Without the slipspace drive, the ship would have been a sitting duck.

"Look, I'll do whatever you ask me to. I owe you that much." Nolte gulped down the last of his beer, before scrunching up the flimsy aluminium can in one hand. "And I'll back you up no matter what happens. Thing is, if you're handing this Forerunner over to ONI, have you actually asked him about it?"

"About what he wants?"

"Yeah, exactly. Have you spoken to him about it?"

Both humans looked to Accord, who had just walked back into the living room from the kitchen. He regarded the both of them with a wary gaze, as if realising that he had just been the subject of discussion.

* * *

Nolte was right, of course. Leah should have spoken to Accord about it, but at this point it was already probably too late. ONI would already be on her tail, utilising the transmitter she had taken from the Pelican as per the established protocol. If Boone was not around, then any one of the operatives in the safehouses in Deckar's Stand would certainly be tracking her. Rickard himself was probably doing it right now, and he may have even dispatched people to come get her and her companions.

Leah had taken the opportunity to eat something, given how long it had been since her last meal. Nolte had plenty of jerky, imported from some colony that had a healthy livestock trade and exported fine meats. This made for a decent enough snack, as did the large amount of water she took in during her makeshift lunch. As for Accord, he had taken to sitting on a sofa across from her, within the living room, and he sat quietly despite the fact that the sofa was having difficulty taking his weight and fitting his bulky frame. Nolte had gone into his garage and was probably fiddling around with any number of his automotive related personal projects. Jak'Talva was in a room down the hall, lying relaxed upon a hammock, taking the opportunity for a nap. It was an unusual situation, even for Leah, who had seen a lot of strange things in her time. None had been stranger than having a Forerunner and a Skirmisher as companions, all taking shelter in the home of a war veteran who spent most of his time sleeping, drinking or watching television.

"How are you holding up?" Leah asked. She looked at the Forerunner squarely, and he returned her gaze with a fairly neutral look, all the while his eyes betrayed his true, far more anxious, feelings.

"What do you mean?" Accord asked.

"How do you feel? About everything? About being the last of your kind?"

"I will live."

"That's not really what I meant. You can live on, but you could be mentally traumatised. I've seen it before, the way some things can really hurt a person's mind. You can't fool me, Accord."

Accord shifted in his chair, the window behind him drawing in slight slits of sunlight between the blinds that had been closed over it.

"Forerunners do not often talk about their feelings," Accord stated. "And when we do, it is normally only to loved ones."

"Do you think about your loved ones?" Leah was genuinely interested. Accord seemed to pause, as if startled by the question, not that he showed it in any blatant manner.

"My loved ones?"

"Family, friends, pets even. I mean, I never had a real 'family' of my own. My fellow Spartans were my family, my brothers and sisters. Many of us were close, which made it all the more difficult when we started getting killed off one at a time, here and there, over the course of thirty years." Leah had not really spoken about this to anyone else, more so because she did not have any real close friends to tell it to. That, and it simply reminded her of her current status as one of the few Spartan IIs still alive in 2558.

"I had brothers and sisters. My parents as well." Accord spoke in a somewhat gentler tone than he had before, as if thinking about them had eased his usual sternness. "They are all gone now. I am all that's left." He looked to her, almost questioningly. "Do you help me willingly, or simply because you have to?"

It was a question Leah had not been entirely expecting, and it caught her by surprise. She had to take a moment to contemplate her answer, as she was not entirely sure of it herself.

"Both," she replied. "I want to help you, Accord. I really do. And I need to know what it is you want. If you want to leave right now, walk out the door and wander off, I won't stop you." Leah knew what she was saying was pretty much defying her orders, but she felt these circumstances were unique enough for even a Spartan to bend the rules a little. "You can have your freedom, for what it's worth."

"I would never fit in." Accord sounded almost morose, and understandably so.

"I never really did. I'm not like most women my age, in case you haven't noticed."

"You told me you were enhanced?"

"You could say that. Not something I volunteered for, but I didn't get much say in the matter."

"I became a Warrior-Servant as soon as I was old enough." Accord spoke in a somewhat downbeat tone, as if thinking of his old life had struck a chord in him. Still, it was hard to tell just what he was thinking, given the way he was able to keep a straight face no matter what was going on around him or being said.

"What was it like? Back in your time?" Leah had been meaning to ask this, if only to satisfy her curiosity. Accord was practically a relic from another time, albeit a relic in the form of a young alien soldier, and there was likely a lot he could tell her about the time he had once inhabited. Of course, that would only further hit home just how out of his depth he was now, with no one else like him currently existing within the galaxy (as far as Leah knew, anyway).

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Just how different were things?"

Accord seemed to think about this question for an extended moment. He looked to her, and then narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. His youthful face had no wrinkles in it, despite the movement. Looking at him, Leah actually felt old, despite being in her late thirties.

"That is a very broad question."

"Okay. What about the humans you were fighting? What were my people like, before everything changed?"

"As warlike as you are now," Accord said. He spoke in a level tone, with no hint of contempt. He was simply stating a fact, or at least a fact in his view, and he meant little by it other than giving an honest answer. "Do not take that as an offence. The humans from my time were larger, stronger and perhaps more intelligent than what your species has become now, but I do not know enough about what you are like now to make a proper judgment."

"Bigger and stronger?"

"Your size, even."

Leah was certainly taller and more muscular than most women, primarily because of the enhancements she had received through the Spartan program. The fact that her distant ancestors had been similar was certainly interesting, and seemed to suggest that things were finally coming back full circle. An intriguing thought, even if she hardly knew enough about the history in question to come to any real conclusion.

"You were our competitors," Accord explained. "Humanity had a far-reaching galactic empire, as we Forerunners also did. With that in mind, it was only a matter of time before we came into conflict. And when I was put in stasis, that conflict had been going on for many hundreds of years, with many planets having been destroyed. Even this one, Primas IV, was bombarded from orbit."

"With you on it."

"The stasis field protected me. It also likely hid my life signs." Accord had probably been doing what he could to try and piece together all that had happened, and how he had ended up here and now. "They forgot I was there, and probably assumed I was among the dead."

"Primas IV?"

"This world, the one you call Thrace, was once home to a small Forerunner colony," Accord said. "It was also the location of a scientific outpost, which is where the stasis field was located. Your ancestors destroyed the colony and sought to claim the secrets of the outpost, and I was sent with a battalion of my brothers and sisters-in-arms to stop them." He paused for a moment, and Leah saw the look in his eyes that she had seen on so many other soldiers. The look that made it clear that they were reliving whatever horrors they had seen on some past battlefield, a look that she sometimes inadvertently gave herself when her mind wandered back into the past.

"This planet was once covered in jungles," Accord added. Leah might have found this funny, if the look in Accord's eyes was not so intense. "The orbital bombardment likely changed that. And you humans are back here, after all the things my people did to get you off of this planet in the first place." He slowly shook his head. "It is as if the universe runs in circles."

"Maybe it does?" Leah leaned forwards a little, intrigued to hear more from the Forerunner. "There's a saying us humans have, and it's an old one."

"And what is it?"

"The more things change, the more they stay the same."

There was a long pause then. They both thought over what had been said, and Leah once again posited her previous suggestion.

"If you want to go and disappear, I'll let you. I can tell my superiors I lost you, or you fought me off and escaped. They'll likely tear Thrace apart looking for you…"

"No." Accord shook his head firmly, catching Leah mid-sentence. "I cannot run. I have nowhere to go. I stand out enough as it is. If you want to help me, you will do everything in your power to educate me."

Leah cocked a brow. She had not been expecting to hear this from him, but the look in his eyes was genuine.

"Educate you?"

"Simply answer all my questions. For now, Leah, I will stay with you. But if your superiors intend on making me into a scientific experiment, then I will fight them."

Leah nodded her head. She understood this perfectly, and there would be little she could do to stop him. In a way, she did not want to stop him, and if he tried fighting his way out of ONI's clutches, she might be very well disinclined to intervene.

"I won't stop you," she said.


	15. The Baron

**The Baron**

The former Covenant cruiser _Prophet's Lance_ had taken up orbit around Thrace, after its brief engagement with the human frigate. Like most ships of its kind, it was a sleek, purple spacecraft with a profile one might liken to a large sea creature. It was currently the only alien ship in orbit of Thrace, and it was unlikely this would change anytime soon, since the vessel itself was no longer part of the 'Covenant', or rather part of what the name used to stand for.

Like most Covenant vessels of its size, the command centre was in the middle of the ship, making it the most protected area. Here, several Sangheili in armour of varying colours operated holographic terminals, whilst one in particular stood in the middle of it all. He wore ornate black armour with a shimmering copper-coloured trim along the edges of most plates. Family armour, passed down from generation to generation, and this particular Sangheili had modified it with contemporary shield systems. It was preferable to the standard shipmaster gear one working for the Covenant would wear, and since the Covenant was no longer functioning like it once did, it seemed a good opportunity to adorn something more personable.

Arnvar 'Sraom was tall and bulky for a Sangheili. Over his back he wore a lavish orange cape, one adorned with the crest of the 'Sraom clan. His helmet crowned the top of his head, curving slightly upwards over the back of his neck. Hands clasped behind his back, he eyed the main view-screen ahead, the readouts scrolling across it receiving only slight attention. He was thinking, as one in command is often required to do. He was watching the holographic display showing the ship and its position over the planet below, with one location highlighted with a blue icon. It was the location as marked that he was thinking mostly about, until finally someone broke his train of thought.

"Shipmaster, there is an incoming message for you." One of the Sangheili Minors seated at a terminal nearby called this out loud enough for Arnvar's concentration to be completely broken. He felt like voicing his annoyance, but decided against it.

"Refer it to my terminal." Arnvar walked over to the shipmaster's chair. Here, he sat down and activated the small holographic terminal that was in turn projected from one arm of the chair and over his lap. As expected, one of the things he had rather hoped to avoid was instead about to occur. He climbed off of his chair and looked to the red-armoured warrior standing some distance ahead of him.

"Major Kordon, you have the bridge."

The veteran soldier nodded at him in understanding, before returning to his duties. Arnvar strode out of the command centre, passing through a large metal sliding door and entering one of many silver and purple corridors that wound their way through the ship's interior. He knew exactly where he was going, despite the sameness of the corridors, and after passing down a few decks he came to a closed-off corridor that opened only when it detected his approach. A panel by the entrance scanned the hand he placed against it before a green light blinked and the door unlocked, allowing him access to one of the more private areas of the ship. He took his time intentionally, as he had no desire to give the one calling him the satisfaction of a punctual arrival. The corridor took him to another door, where two bored looking Sangheili stood guard, relegated to one of the less reputable positions on the ship. They parted as he approached, and the door slid open to reveal a large, circular living chamber.

The bed and the general luxuries were apparent in the way the place was decorated, with lavish curtains on the walls and exotic sculptures on stands here and there. The whole room was bathed in a blue light that emanated from the ceiling above, and an elaborate setup of exterior surveillance modules and holographic projectors covered the ceiling with a real-time feed of the outside of the ship, currently occupied mostly by stars.

The sole occupant of the room was seated in a floating anti-gravity chair, and he was bobbing up and down to the right of the room near a computer terminal. The long-necked San'Shyuum turned to the visitor, his hazel eyes setting themselves on the Sangheili as he strolled inside. The Minister of Information was one of the few San'Shyuum to escape High Charity during the Flood outbreak upon it, but like many of his kind, he had fallen far from his previous position of power and influence. This particular Minister was middle-aged for his species, and his slightly tanned but normally pale skin was extremely wrinkled, especially along the elongated neck that was one of the more noticeable traits of a San'Shyuum.

"Baron 'Sraom," the Minister said, turning his anti-gravity chair towards the shipmaster. The Minister was dressed in a silky blue robe, and some kind of elaborate jewelled necklace was around his neck. Arnvar had no particular liking for the Minister, and at best tolerated his presence. However, the Minister of Information was not called that for no reason, and it was this Minister who had provided Arnvar much of the intelligence that had lead his recent operations to success. This journey to some backwater human world should be no different.

"What do you want, Minister?"

"I am yet to receive your report of what was found on the human vessel," the Minister said. He floated to within a few metres of Arnvar, well within reach of the Sangheili's mighty arms. Arnvar often toyed with the idea of reaching out and crushing the frail alien's long neck with his bare hands. The San'Shyuum had used the Sangheili for their own ends for centuries, and for that he should kill the Minister where he sat. Instead, he kept him around, if only because he was a source of information.

"That is because we found nothing," Arnvar replied. "We searched their ship before they destroyed it. There was no sign of any Forerunner relics."

"So what we seek remains on the surface," the Minister said, as self-assuredly as he could, in the way that only a San'Shyuum could. It irked Arnvar to hear it, and he had often heard it many times during the broadcasts the Prophets often used to make through Covenant space. It had coloured his perception of the San'Shyuum as arrogant from very early on, not that Arnvar had made his feelings known to anyone. Crimes such as 'heresy' had been very broad in the Covenant, and intentionally so as the Prophets had certainly enjoyed having the power to ruin or even execute just about any one who so much as questioned their ways.

"Our sensors detected no Forerunner relics," Arnvar said. "The humans had already excavated the site you specified, and they may very well have moved anything they found off-world. It seems, Minister, that your information is poor this time around." He might have smiled upon saying this, but instead kept a level gaze as he watched the withering Minister fumble about in his anti-gravity chair as he thought the matter over.

"I drew this information from Forerunner databases myself," the Minister said, his tone gaining a defensive edge. He did not like being wrong, whereas Arnvar almost enjoyed the little outbursts the Minister was prone to having. It was Arnvar who was in control here, and the Minister was not at all used to being subordinate to a Sangheili. To a San'Shyuum, that was practically an insult, which made the current circumstances all the more satisfying.

"There should be relics within that site, Baron," the Minister continued. "I am certain of it."

"You have not specified the exact nature of these relics, Minister," Arnvar said. "Perhaps, with more information, we would have more success…"

"They are down there, Baron, and don't you dare doubt me!" Again, the Minister fidgeted in his chair, one fist slamming down onto an armrest. He was angry, as he so often was, and Arnvar simply stood where he was as he let the Minister's outburst wash right off of him.

"Know your place here, Minister," Arnvar replied, once he was sure that the Minister was not going to rant. "You are here as a guest, _my_ guest. Very few people on this ship want you around. I, however, find you to be a useful asset. If anything, it would be _you_ who should not doubt _me_." He took a few steps towards the Minister, who impulsively flew back a short distance in his chair upon seeing the Sangheili's imposing figure move for him. Arnvar stopped, and offered the Sangheili version of a friendly smile. To the Minister, it looked like the warrior was bearing his teeth for attack.

"I will be going down to the planet myself shortly, to oversee operations," Arnvar said. "The human population on this world is dangerous, especially to our small numbers, so I feel that my presence on the surface should help expedite our mission here. In the meantime, you will stay here, locked up in your room like the pet you are." With this, he turned and left the room, annoyed that he had come away from the bridge just for _that_.

He thought he heard the Minister say something, but by that point Arnvar was out of the room and the door was sliding shut behind him.

* * *

It was not often a Sangheili would give themselves the title of 'Baron', certainly not in these contemporary times. The title harkened back to a more primitive time, before the Covenant had been formed and the Sangheili were yet to break free of the boundaries of their home-world. Their society back then had been very feudal, and even to this day it still was to an extent, albeit somewhat less stricter with room for one to move within the social order. Back before the Covenant had formed and the San'Shyuum had come to Sanghelios, a Sangheili Baron was one whom owned a significant amount of land, often acquired through careful business manipulation. They had often reported to the more noble clan members, the kaidons and the like, and had maintained numerous tracts of land inhabited and worked upon by those without the wealth and power that their more noble brethren had. It was outdated in modern Sangheili society, and someone like a Baron would be considered dishonourable on today's Sanghelios. The Covenant had stripped people like that of their power, and Sangheili society had changed over time, as many do, shifting an even greater focus onto war while other aspects of Sangheili society stagnated, such as medicine.

Arnvar 'Sraom had not been a 'Baron' to begin with. He had been a warrior, like so many males of his kind, and he had fought in the war against the humans for many years. He had done his fair share of killing, and unlike some, he had enjoyed it. Having someone's life in your power gave a special kind of thrill, one that Arnvar sought after whenever he could. Some might have considered him ruthless, sadistic even, but in war the rules were different, and such terms did not entirely apply. He did what he had to, and he enjoyed it.

The 'Baron' title he had claimed for himself after the war, a means of differentiating himself from all the other splinter groups who had fallen away from the Covenant, with all their different leaders and differing goals. Some had aligned themselves with 'Mdama's so-called 'Storm Covenant'. Others had gone in other directions, and Arnvar was one of them.

Somehow the Minister had escaped High Charity with a sizeable portion of the databases of the Ministry of Information. Even in the face of the Flood, the irritating San'Shyuum had done everything he could to preserve as much of the information stored in the vast databanks of the former holy city and Covenant capital. It had been luck, really, that the Minister had wound up in Arnvar's custody, luck that had provided Arnvar the perfect opportunity to pursue a more selfish and potentially lucrative line of work. He had, at first, aligned himself with the Storm Covenant, if only because of the force it yielded. Compared to the Swords of Sanghelios, there were more ships and more soldiers at Jul 'Mdama's disposal, and Arnvar had always liked being on the winning side. However, after finding the Minister, his opinion had changed. He had acquired, through the Minister, a source of information pertaining to the many secrets of the Forerunners, and he had suitably cut his ties to the Storm Covenant. Whatever relics awaited them on Thrace, if any, would benefit him and no one else. Certainly not Jul 'Mdama, and certainly not Thel 'Vadam. While they fought in the Sangheili home system, Arnvar was out here, actually making progress. He would return to Sanghelios with riches and relics unseen by his people, and he would reclaim the lands that the likes of the 'Ktham clan had taken from his family generations before. Soon enough, the 'Sraom clan would be back to its former glory, instead of the smattering of lands it held now.

As he walked the halls of the cruiser, warriors stood to attention as he passed them by. They knew their commander when they saw him, and they paid proper respect to him as they should. The soldiers here, mainly Sangheili, with a significant number of Unggoy and some Kig-Yar, were loyal to the cause. Finding Forerunner relics was one cause that Arnvar himself could see a good deal of benefit in pursuing, even if he himself did not see the Forerunners as gods. He never really had, having kept such opinions to himself, but the war had been entertaining enough for him to not really care as to _why_ they were fighting. He kept his doubt about the Forerunners' godhood to himself even now, knowing that many of the soldiers under his command still believed it, no matter what propaganda from the humans or the likes of Thel 'Vadam made its way to their ears. The soldiers on this cruiser were rigid in their beliefs, and they were stronger for it. Arnvar simply used this to his advantage as he pursued whatever leads the Minister of Information provided.

The hangar bay in the cruiser was fairly large, with ample room for at least three Phantoms or the u-shaped Spirit drop-ships. Arnvar was met upon one landing platform by several armoured warriors, one of which handed him a carbine. Behind them, a Phantom hovered in place, its rear-ramp open to provide the soldiers access. The Major who handed him the weapon motioned to the others to start boarding.

"The area at the site has been cleared of humans," the Major said, as he turned to face Arnvar. "However, the humans have set up a large encampment not far from the site itself. They have not attacked in force, but we have lost a patrol in an ambush to them. Their numbers are much greater than our own."

"Numbers are not everything," Arnvar replied. "We may have to take the fight to the humans, especially if the site itself is empty." He had been considering how they might do this. Bombing the humans from orbit may inadvertently harm what they were looking for, and he did not wish to incinerate any precious Forerunner relics. They would have to scour the human settlements, if no relics were found at the site. Beyond that, they may very well have to leave this world empty-handed. If so, Arnvar might very well take out his frustration on the Minister, albeit to an extent that would keep him alive whilst inflicting as much pain as possible.

"Our searches have not turned up anything yet…"

"Which means we may have to step up our operations," Arnvar interrupted. "Nonetheless, we will not be leaving this planet until our work is done." He gestured to the Major to move on ahead. Arnvar hung back for a moment, as he took several of the glowing green magazines that fitted the carbine from a purple crate nearby. He took a moment to think, as he often did before heading into a fight. The planet below was a hostile one, populated by numerous hostile humans. Both sides operated on a balance for now, as the humans were unlikely to take any gambles as long as they were unsure of the enemy's numbers. Arnvar could not make any significant pushes, as he could not be certain if the humans would call for outside help, if that call had not been made already. If even a handful of human vessels arrived in this system, the cruiser would be in serious trouble. For now, both sides probed each other, all the while his people on the surface scoured the site the Minister had provided the coordinates for. Something would give eventually, and he knew that he had to be prepared for it.

Further down from the landing platform were parked several Banshees. Arnvar's gaze drifted over to them, and rested upon the one that had been painted a deep red in colour. That one was his own, customised to his personal preferences. It had been a while since he had needed to fly it, and part of him would have very much liked to do so even now, but this operation required a subtle approach and the howling of a Banshee was hardly going to provide it. For now, he would have to settle for being on the ground with his soldiers.

He stepped on board the Phantom then, joining the warriors under his command inside. Behind him, the ramp closed, sealing them inside the coolly lit interior, holographic terminals glowing around them. With a single order, the pilot pushed on the throttle and in turn sent the Phantom roaring out of the cruiser's expansive hangar, and into the black void of space beyond.

* * *

Little had changed during the course of the day, and the Covenant maintained their positions at the dig site. Carson had been watching them from afar, nestled amongst the boulders as he was, in the shade under a particularly large overhang with a set of binoculars on hand and a fold-up chair behind him for when his legs got a bit tired. As it stood, there was nothing significant happening down in the old mining town, and the Covenant aliens milled about on their assigned patrols, keeping a perimeter around the place while several of their own went in and out of the dig site itself. They were cleaning the place out, judging from the rubble some of them were carrying from within the tunnel and dumping outside. Chunks of smooth, gleaming artificially-hewn rock, likely part of the Forerunner structure under the surface.

Carson put aside his binoculars for now and made his way back to the camp itself. These aliens were on his turf now, and so far he had had his scouts map out every patrol and every guard position their alien enemies had set up. This was all in preparation for the attack Carson intended to launch, and soon, preferably before the Covenant decided to make a move against them. They knew the camp was up here, but they were unlikely certain of the numbers the humans had. That, or they simply thought it best to hang back and focus on whatever it was they were doing in the dig site.

The camp was quiet for now. Carson made his way to the operations tent, where he was greeted by Staff Sergeant Baird. The Staff Sergeant had noticeable purple stains on his gloved hands and uniform, and he was in the process of wiping clean a knife covered in dark purple blood, utilising a white cloth to do so.

"Colonel," Baird said. "I managed to get something out of the hinge-head." By 'hinge-head', Baird was no doubt referring to the Sangheili prisoner. Carson stopped near the Staff Sergeant, ensuring the flap of the tent was closed behind him. The air within was mostly cool, courtesy to the air conditioning units that had been set up about the place.

"And what would that be, Staff Sergeant?" Carson asked. He walked by the Staff Sergeant and to the table in the middle of the tent, where a map of the region was spread out and covered in a number of markers, highlighting Covenant positions.

"They came here looking for something. Some kind of ancient relics." Staff Sergeant Baird walked up alongside him, sheathing his now mostly clean blade as he did so. "He couldn't tell me what, and I did work my best persuasive techniques on him to try and get him to talk, but it looks like he didn't know much. I'd say he was fairly low on the pecking order…"

"It doesn't matter, Staff Sergeant." Carson put a finger to one of the small red discs placed upon the map and pushed it to the left a little, better reflecting the position of the guard post since he had last seen it. "We're dealing with a small incursion force, and they can be easily contained. Whatever they're trying to find, they won't succeed." He turned to one of the technicians seated at a bank of computers nearby. This one was in charge of communications and the like, and he was currently engrossed in his work. However, he looked up then, turning his attention to the Colonel.

"Excuse me, Colonel?" He put a finger to his ear-piece as information filtered on through it. "We've got reports incoming, concerning the UNSC frigate that turned up on our long range sensors earlier."

"What are they saying?" Carson moved over to the communications desk, his gaze going to the computer terminals here. A few of the monitors displayed satellite feeds, with one showing the region from high above, and another focused in on Deckar's Stand from an even higher altitude. Little had changed on either one since Carson had last seen them.

"Most of the escape pods were destroyed," the technician said. Carson had expected as much. ONI might have been here trying to bring down his operation, and they were likely to have a ship in the region, but their run-in with the Covenant had not ended well. "However, several have been touching down across the desert. We also detected a Pelican flying into atmosphere, about forty kilometres east of Deckar's Stand. It disappeared from our sensors not long after."

"Of course it did." Carson found the many holes in the planet's defence network aggravating, and he had been working towards rectifying its many problems, but at the moment things were still very patchy. "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing yet, sir. Did you want me to pass any orders through?"

"The people in those escape pods won't last long in the desert, and our patrols are likely to find some of them as it is, so we'll leave them be for now. As for the Pelican, I want a search party sent to its last known location. I get the impression that the more important people might have rode that thing down." Carson gave the matter some more thought. Not only did he have the UNSC to deal with, but the Covenant as well. Today was proving to be a very interesting day. Was Thrace really that important in the grand scheme of things?

Still, he supposed digging around for Forerunner artefacts was one way to get involved in some very dangerous business.

He turned to the Staff Sergeant, who had been waiting nearby.

"Staff Sergeant, I want our troops ready for an attack within the next two hours," Carson ordered. "I think we should push our alien visitors off of this planet before the presence of the UNSC adds further complication."

"They'll be ready sooner than that, Colonel," Baird replied. He sounded confident, which was reassuring, and the soldiers they had at their disposal had been trained well. Despite this, very few had seen any real action before, and save for some former UNSC military veterans and militia, most of the soldiers themselves would be heading into battle for the first time later today. Still, the Covenant force they faced was at the moment fairly small.

"Sir, I'm detecting a Phantom on approach." The technician at the desk made some adjustments at a monitor, showing the scanner feed from one of the sensor buoys in orbit. Carson leaned forward, watching the display, as the recognizable profile of a Phantom drop-ship appeared. "It's heading straight for the dig site."

Carson turned to the Staff Sergeant again, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I suggest you get to work on preparing the troops," he said. "Before we get any more uninvited guests."


	16. Changing Lanes

**Changing Lanes  
**

Accord had had much time to think. After his conversation with Leah, he had gone off to some quiet corner of Nolte's house where he had sat down and gazed out of a window, looking out across the barren landscape outside, past the rusted hulk of a vehicle and the numerous odds and ends that the human war veteran had left scattered around his property. The last half day had been an eventful one, least of all for what it had revealed to him. He was the last Forerunner, this much he knew, he was only getting started on what it might actually mean for him. What would be his place in society, if any, given what he was? He had known from early on that he had no place here, he was very much a man out of his own time, and if there was a way for him to return to his own time he would take advantage of it without hesitation.

Alas, time travel was a dream even to the Forerunners, and instead Accord had to settle on getting through his current predicament. That meant he had to accompany humans and an irritating bird alien, relying on them for assistance since he was well out of his element. The language had come easy, with some help from advanced Forerunner technology, it was understanding the galaxy he was in and the society he had fallen into that was another matter altogether.

He could appreciate the quietness within the house, cramped as it was, at least to his bulky frame. Accord shifted in his seat, hearing it creak under his weight, and he watched as sand was kicked up from the ground outside by a strong breeze, before dying down almost as quickly as it had risen. Primas IV had certainly changed, likely because of the orbital bombardment his people had carried out to wipe the planet clean of a human presence. Yet, the humans had come back, albeit in a different form than before, and they had even built a city here. He could just make it out on the horizon from the window, from the top of the stout hill that Nolte's house sat upon. At this distance, it was little more than a smattering of tiny silver and black boxes, smoke pluming from some of them. Occasionally, some kind of boxy-looking spacecraft would rise from the city and shoot off into the sky. Freighters, most likely, hauling goods off-world.

If what the humans told him was true, then his people were gone. They had wiped themselves out to combat the Flood, something he had only heard rumours of during his time. He could only assume that the Lifeworkers had done something to ensure that life would go on after the disappearance of every Forerunner. The humans had come back. As for the other races, like the birdman and the tall armoured aliens he had glimpsed on the human vessel, he had no idea what they were. Apparently the birdman was a 'Kig-Yar', but the name meant nothing to Accord.

Accord felt that he could rely on Leah. She was enhanced, so she was at least stronger than the unusually small humans he had found himself surrounded by. In a way, she was like him, bred to fulfil the sole purpose of fighting. She had told him as much, which he thought was odd, given that they had only just recently met, yet he could not help but think that her concern for him was genuine. She really wanted to help, and Accord found himself believing her. So far, she had indeed helped him, yet even she had been at a loss as to what he should do next. He would never fit in here, and there were likely many people who would want to get hold of him for their own ends. They probably thought he could give them advanced technology, knowledge somehow, yet as a Warrior-Servant his understanding of the technology he had used was limited. And now, with only a few pieces of his armour and no weapons and no ancilla to guide him, Accord was even more vulnerable than he had ever been before. Wearing a full suit of Forerunner armour would have only net him unwanted attention anyway, and as he was dressed now he could cover himself up and pass for an exotic alien.

He watched the landscape outside, and he waited. Leah was somewhere else, likely preparing for whatever people were to come and collect him. Nolte and Jak'Talva were in the living room, and he could hear the two of them talking.

The thought of returning to the stasis chamber he had been trapped in for one-hundred thousand years had come to mind, yet he did not know what that might achieve. The technology had kept him alive, and maybe the computers there still functioned, but as for what he might do with it? He had no idea. He certainly did not plan on going back into stasis, as that would be pointless and too many people would know exactly where to find him. It appeared that he would have to swallow his Forerunner pride and work with Leah and the others, even if he did not entirely respect the others, nor did he trust them. Leah he was still unsure of, even if he felt that her desire to help him was genuine. She could just as easily turn on him as everyone else in this bizarre new galaxy he had woken up in, and in the end the only one he could truly rely on was himself. There were no fellow Forerunners to help him, and his connection to the Domain was gone anyway. Without his ancilla, he was without the means to even scratch the Domain, not that he had needed to access it since he had been a Manipular. He was still young by Forerunner standards, but even he was past the point of needing access to the Domain for any significant reason. Occasionally he had stepped into it to seek some point of knowledge, but such events had been few and far between, and often more to fulfil his own curiosity rather than to assist anyone else.

Accord had briefly delved into the kitchen earlier, and he had hydrated himself with the coppery water that had come from the tap there. As for food, he had found very little, save for some kind of leafy green plant that had been broken into several separate leaves and bundled into a plastic bag in the fridge. He had eaten all of it, without mentioning it to Nolte, and despite the fairly bland taste it had done something to nourish him. As he had expected, there had been plenty of meat in the man's kitchen. Frozen mostly, some of it for a long time, none of which had so much as appealed to a Forerunner like Accord. The Mantle forbade the consumption of animal flesh, even if doing so would have been both more convenient and more nourishing.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice sounded from the doorway. Accord turned his head, looking to Leah, who walked on inside. "Admiring the view?"

"I was thinking," Accord replied. Leah stopped to his right, following his previous gaze out the window. "I've needed to do a lot of it since waking up."

"I can imagine." Leah looked a little more freshened than usual, and her hair was slightly wet. She must have noticed his curious gaze, given what she said next. "I took a quick shower. That way I don't smell quite so bad."

"I haven't bathed in one-hundred thousand years," Accord replied. "I think I need a 'shower' much more than you do." He said this all with a straight face, despite the semi-joking nature of what he said. Leah cocked an eyebrow at him, seemingly surprised.

"So you do have a sense of humour after all," she said. "And here I was thinking you were always stiff and uppity."

"You should forgive my former demeanour," Accord said. "I am used to dealing with a very different sort of humans. Barbaric and callous ones, who destroyed entire Forerunner worlds without provocation."

"Well, hate to break it to you, but humans are still killing each other and other species all the time," Leah stated. "Nothing's really changed in that department. We've always been very good at killing each other."

Accord thought about this. He had never really spoken to humans before. In fact, before waking up in this strange future, he had indeed never uttered a word to an actual human. The humans he had fought had often been outfitted in full armour, their faces hidden under elaborate helmets. He had never spoken to one because he had never received an opportunity. War had been the order of the day, and he had shot and killed several human soldiers without so much as thinking about the actual living being who was within the armour. Speaking to one now, in such an open manner, was both strange and oddly refreshing. Leah was making him think of those he had killed, and whether or not any of them might have been like her. Tall and confident, the way Leah carried herself certainly oozed this latter quality. Her military background was apparent, despite her lack of proper uniform and rugged desert camouflage outfit.

"How many humans have you killed?" Leah asked. It was a blunt question, and it caught him off-guard for a moment as he thought it over. "I don't mean anything by it. I've killed a whole lot of people, some human, some otherwise. Never really thought about those I killed until recently. Peace can do that to a soldier."

"Peace?"

"The war with the Covenant ended about five years ago. Now we're all supposed to be best friends. We're really not though, if what happened to our frigate is anything to go by." She turned to the window, and narrowed her eyes. "Now I've been sent here to stir up trouble with the rebellious human locals. Funny how things have turned out, now that you're here."

Before Accord could say anything to this, Leah's demeanour changed and she stiffened suddenly. Something had caught her attention, and it was something outside as Accord followed the direction of her slightly widened eyes. About two black four-wheeled armoured vehicles had appeared, roaring onto Nolte's property, their wheels kicking up a thick plume of sand in their wake. Both vehicles came to halt outside.

"They're here," Leah said, and she turned around and shot out of the room. Accord was up on his feet immediately, and he followed her out to the living room, where Nolte and Jak-Talva appeared to be having a spirited conversation.

"This bird has picked up some bad habits," Jak'Talva said, from where he was sitting upon one of Nolte's sofas. "Have you got a cigarette? I have the uncontrollable urge to ruin my lungs."

"A cigarette? Jesus Christ, what kind of fucking bird are you?" Nolte breathed a short laugh as he reached into a pocket on his shirt and pulled out one of the cigarettes in question. "You know what you're getting into?"

"Of course." Jak'Talva took the small thing in his tied-up hands. However, as Leah and Accord entered the room, both of them turned to the pair.

"You hear that?" Leah asked, looking to Nolte.

"You mean the roaring engines and skidding wheels?" Nolte threw Jak'Talva his lighter, and the Skirmisher caught it deftly in his hands despite them being tied together. The veteran Marine then made his way over to a cabinet at the end of the room, which he pulled open and revealed the three guns inside. Specifically, an older and rugged model of the typical UNSC battle rifle, a pump-action shotgun of Outer Colonies design, and a sizeable black metal magnum pistol with a laser-sight under its barrel. Nolte took the shotgun, and from the bottom of the cabinet he pulled a small box filled with shells for it.

"What are you doing?" Leah asked him. Accord could certainly admire the human's level of preparation. Of course, no Forerunner colony world had been so lawless as to make anyone actually need such a level of protection in their home.

"I'm making sure I'm prepared for anything," Nolte replied. He began loading shells into the magazine tube of the shotgun, one at a time yet rapidly, until the weapon was fully loaded and he was able to rack the pump. Accord could practically hear the round slide into the weapon's chamber.

"I think it's ONI," Leah said.

"All the more reason to answer the door armed," Nolte countered.

Leah turned to Accord, her expression serious. Any kind of humour that might have been there had vanished.

"I'm going to go to the door. You stay here." She then turned to Nolte again. "And you too. I don't want you starting any trouble."

Nolte nodded in acknowledgement. Accord, on the other hand, did not feel entirely safe here, and he had no real desire to hang back. However, the look Leah gave him inspired some confidence, as did her overall demeanour as she made her way to the door and pushed it open, letting the warm desert air waft into the house. For now, Accord remained in the living room, while Nolte brushed by him and moved into the kitchen. There, he crouched behind the kitchen counter facing the window and gripped his shotgun tightly, his eyes keenly watching the scene outside. Something told Accord that just about anything would set this man off.

* * *

The heat outside was palpable. Leah could already feel the sweat forming under her clothes as she took a few steps down from the front door and out into the searing glare of the Thracian sun. Outside, both of the armoured black vehicles, unmarked as they were, had come to a halt on the mostly barren patch of land outside the front of Nolte's house. From the rear of each vehicle came about four black-clad combat-fitted operatives, typical ONI black ops, and they had spread out around the property. They were armed with a mix of assault rifles and shotguns, and leading them was a familiar and tall armoured figure, his armour a similar black colour with the visor a shining golden-yellow in the glare of the sun.

"Senior Chief Petty Officer Leah-022," Eric announced, almost theatrically, as if he was enjoying himself. "Where is the Forerunner?"

Leah could imagine the smile under his visor. He must have liked having her on the backfoot, surrounded and without her armour. She knew little about Eric, save for his heavy involvement with ONI since he had completed his training in the Spartan-III program. He was likely one of their own to the very core, and was probably the kind of person who enjoyed his work a bit too much.

"You got here quickly," Leah commented.

"We've been able to regroup," Eric replied. "We even have a camp setup in the desert, and we've got additional help on the way. I'm simply here to take you and the Forerunner back with us."

"You brought a lot of help," Leah said. She looked to the helmeted, faceless black ops goons. "Expecting trouble?"

"We don't know what to expect with a Forerunner, Senior Chief," Eric said. "So we're taking no chances. Bring him out here and we can all go home." He phrased this as an order, rather than a request. This was despite the fact that Leah outranked him, not that Eric seemed to pay this any attention.

"What do you intend to do with him?" Leah asked. Eric tilted his helmeted head slightly, as if he found the question strange. He likely had not been expecting any from her, given the fact that she was a Spartan, but even she knew that she had changed somewhat over the last several years, with more and more of her typically Spartan stiffness falling away ever since the war with the Covenant had ended.

"What does it matter? Bring him out here." Eric's patience was wearing thin, this much was clear from his tone of voice. Leah took a moment to think about the matter, and she turned her head to look back into the house. Accord had appeared behind her, and he strode forward confidently until he was standing a few paces in front of her. Leah reached out to pull him back in, but he avoided her grasp and walked towards the ONI operatives with his arms outstretched.

"What do you intend to do to me?" Accord asked. He spoke in a level tone, fearless as always, and his gaze went to Eric.

"I'm only following orders," Eric replied. "I wasn't told what they'd be doing to you, but I'm thinking you might be spending a great deal of your time in a laboratory. That's only a guess on my part." He spoke in an almost nonchalant manner, uncaring for what became of the Forerunner. Leah felt a spike of anger rise in her, but for now she kept her mouth shut. She could almost feel Nolte's presence, crouched as he was in the kitchen, peering through the blinds at the window there with his gun at the ready. He was an unpredictable variable in this situation, and Leah would have preferred it if he were not around for this particular exchange. She could not change things now, of course, not without complicating the situation herself.

"I do not wish to be your experiment, human," Accord stated. He lowered his arms, standing tall and proud with the Spartan a short distance in front of him. "If you intend to take me prisoner, you will have to subdue me." He paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air, as if for effect. "You may not find that as easy as you suspect."

Leah could already see that the trouble was starting. As Accord had told her, he would not willingly hand himself over to ONI. For now, she was split on what she should do next. Every ingrained, training instinct from the Spartan program was telling her to support Eric and to bring the Forerunner in for the benefit of humanity, yet when she looked at Accord all she saw was a man well out of his time, lost in a strange place and the last of his kind. Hardly something worth exploiting, not if it meant depriving him of a meaningful life. She wondered where she had developed her moralising streak, but she figured it had come from all the questionable things she had done during her years fighting. And they had been many years, as she had killed her first person at the tender age of twelve and things had only progressed from there. Even by that young age, she had been honed into a killing machine, obeying orders without question. Perhaps now she was reclaiming the humanity she had been born with in the first place, albeit in a potentially dangerous situation that was about to spiral out of control. As a Spartan, she was all about control. She had been taught to take charge of situations, to ensure that things never did get out of hand. Yet that was what they were doing now, and she found herself truly conflicted for the first time for as long as she could remember.

"I'm afraid you don't get a say in the matter, big guy," Eric said. He motioned to the operatives with him, and three of them came forward, each of them drawing a stun prod out of a sheathe. The prods extended, their tips glowing with blue energy. They advanced upon Accord as he stood his ground, and he seemed almost bemused as the first of them jabbed the business end of their prod into his side.

Accord let out a grunt and fell to one knee as the high voltage charge surged through him. Leah remained standing where she was, watching this unfold. She wanted to move, she wanted to do _something_ , yet she could not budge. It was as if her brain had stopped sending any messages to her muscles, freezing her in place like a small animal that had seen a predator only seconds from pouncing upon it. The kind of reaction that came when the brain could neither decide on fight or flight, and instead remained split between the two extremes. It was a reaction Leah had been trained to control, yet the unique circumstances had once again struck this out.

Another of the operatives hit Accord with a prod, this one in the side of his neck. This caused the Forerunner to yelp in pain and he stumbled onto all fours. Eric stood back and watched, apparently satisfied with the performance his lackeys were giving. Behind her, Leah could hear Nolte pulling the blinds. The veteran was about to do something stupid, and she realised that she was about to join in.

She pulled her pistol and aimed it squarely at Eric. He saw this and again he tilted his head, surprised, perhaps even confused, that a fellow Spartan would draw a gun on him. Yet here they were, several metres apart, and Leah had her M6D pointing at his chest. Eric, on the other hand, kept his submachine gun lowered, and did not seem to think of her as a threat.

"Let's not get rash here, Senior Chief," Eric said. "Put the gun away and we can forget all about this little indiscretion."

"I'm not going to let you take him," Leah countered. Her voice was stern and strong, and she felt her confidence return in an overwhelming wave as she recovered from her brief freeze.

Accord rose back upon his feet, only for one of the operatives to set upon him again with the stun prod. This time, Accord was prepared, and he grabbed the operative's prod-wielding arm and flung him over his shoulder in a move reminiscent of something from judo. The operative hit the ground hard, and another lunged for Accord. The Forerunner dodged the incoming strike easily, before backhanding the operative across the face with enough force to knock his head back and send him falling into the dirt.

Eric pulled up his gun then, pointing it towards Accord. Leah took a step forwards, keeping her gun trained on Eric. The other operatives raised their guns then, some pointing towards Leah, others aiming for Accord. For a moment, no one made any further moves. Eric's head went from Leah to Accord, and then back again, as if he could not quite believe what was happening. She could almost feel his eyes narrowing upon her through his helmet, and the disdain he no doubt felt for her apparent betrayal.

"You're disobeying orders, Senior Chief," Eric stated. "Worse than that, you've pulled a gun on a fellow officer. Those are all very serious crimes in the UNSC, even more so when they're committed against operatives of the Office of Naval Intelligence."

"We don't need to take the Forerunner," Leah said. "We can let him go." She was not sure where she was going with this, but at the moment it was all she could think to say. What drove her was her feelings, and she had been taught to trust her instincts over everything else. Instincts were there for a reason, and there had been numerous occasions where they had saved her life, and the lives of others.

"As a matter of fact, we do," Eric replied. "He's the last of his kind. An actual living Forerunner in the flesh. There are a lot of people who would love to get their hands on him, which is why it's for the best that ONI get to him first. Think of what might happen if he fell into the hands of the Covenant, or even the Insurrectionists. There could be serious repercussions." He spoke in a level tone, as if he was trying to be the voice of reason. Leah was not buying it, not when ONI was concerned. Even Eric might believe what he was saying, but that did not make it true.

"So, what will it be then, Spartan Leah?" Eric asked. "Are you going to throw away your life and reputation on some alien you barely know, or are you going to get in line and obey orders?" It was a valid question, and it did give Leah pause, if only for a brief moment. However, her resolve strengthened as she thought about it further, and her grip on her pistol became much more assured. She was doing the right thing, she could feel it, and she had no desire to be part of ONI anymore. The people here on Thrace had showed her that one could live free of the UNSC, and perhaps even for a Spartan like her there was hope of some kind of normalcy. For now, she had a Forerunner to help, which complicated matters given the several guns pointed at the two of them and the open space they were caught on.

"Accord, I want you to start backing away," Leah said. She turned her aim to the operative still standing near him, who had his stun prod held at the ready. Accord glanced at her and without further delay, he began to slowly walk backwards, heading to Nolte's house. Eric took a step forwards then, and Leah sensed a rising sense of anger from him as the situation began to spiral from his grasp.

"You stop right there!" He shouted, aiming his submachine gun at Accord. The Forerunner did not pause, and instead made his way back so that he was standing only a few paces to Leah's right. Eric seemed to consider his options for a moment, before he signalled to the operatives to advance.

"Keep the Forerunner alive," he ordered. "As for the Spartan, do whatever is necessary to neutralise her."

Time seemed to slow down as the half a dozen operatives took aim with their weapons and prepared to open fire. Leah was unarmoured and exposed, and she knew that without some quick thinking followed by some even quicker action, she would probably wind up dead. However, from the kitchen window came the thunder of a gunshot, followed by the sound of shattering glass. One of the operatives fell backwards as a large bloody hole erupted in his chest, shotgun pellets shredding through his armour vest with ease through sheer force. He fell onto the sand, and Leah watched the body fall with mixed emotions tinged with some relief. She would live, it seemed, as Nolte had decided to take action and he had done so at just the right time.

Leah took a step backwards before she took a short jump, sending herself falling back through the doorway as the other operatives opened fire. Eric did as well, and the whole lot of them showered the front of Nolte's house with bullets. Accord stumbled by Leah, keeping down as the hail of gunfire ripped through the windows and walls, splinters of wood and clouds of plaster dust erupting from all around. Leah was on the floor, facing back out the doorway, and she returned fire from her position, sending a volley of pistol rounds tearing through one of the operatives. He twitched and fell, blood running down from the freshly created holes that had been blasted through his torso. The other operatives scattered, and Leah sent a few shots for Eric, the shields on his black MJOLNIR armour flaring up with yellow energy as they deflected the heavy duty rounds.

Eric rushed for cover behind one of the armoured cars, returning fire with his submachine gun as Leah scrambled along the floor. She kicked the front door closed behind her, only for several high velocity bullets to come tearing through, showering her with splinters of wood while numerous points of sunlight followed them through. Nolte shouted something from the kitchen, but the rapid _crack-crack_ and _tak-tak_ of several automatic weapons firing at once drowned out his words under a cacophony of noise. Leah crawled into the living room, watching as Accord moved ahead of her and hit the floor as a window to his left shattered, sending glass falling upon him.

"They're going to surround us!" Nolte shouted. He came rushing into the living room, shotgun in hand as he moved to the newly destroyed window and fired off a shot through it, towards some distant foe. "I've got a Warthog in the garage. We can use that."

Leah rose to a crouched position. She checked her pistol magazine, seeing that it contained only four more rounds, whilst she carried only one fully loaded spare. Hardly enough to defend one's self against a numerically superior and much more heavily armed force, but it would be enough to at least give her a good chance. It occurred to her that she had not planned ahead whatsoever, as spur-of-the-moment decisions tend to negate planning altogether. If they were going to escape, where would they go? Thrace was the kind of planet people often went to in order to get away from the authorities, so there were bound to be plenty of places for a new fugitive like her to take shelter.

She looked to Accord, who had crouched nearby, his face a mask. He did not appear concerned, or even so much as anxious. From him, Leah sensed that he was nothing but calm and collected, and for a second there their eyes met. If he did not make it apparent, Leah thought she saw the grateful look in them. He appreciated her help, this much was evident.

She could hear movement outside. Indeed, the operatives were moving to surround them. They had already wrecked the front of the house a good deal, filling the walls with many holes that streamed in sunlight. Leah moved over to the window Nolte had crouched by, and slowly she peered over it to look at the mostly barren land outside. Two of the operatives were there, one moving past, the other slowly making his way towards the window. Leah rose up quickly, and she shot him down with speed only a Spartan could achieve, planting two in the operative's chest before ducking back down again whilst the operative fell backwards. His compatriot rushed for cover by the side of the house, moving out of view from the window.

"We should probably leave," Nolte suggested. Nearby, Jak'Talva had taken to hiding behind a couch. He stuck his head out, his yellow eyes settling on Leah.

"Can I come?" He asked.

Leah had almost forgotten about the Skirmisher. He was practically smiling at her, despite the bullets that had been tearing through the house, and he held out his tied-up hands as if he expected her to cut them free.

"I know some places we can go," he added. The look in his eyes made it clear that he knew how to sweeten a deal. "Places we can hide. Someone in my line of work needs a long list of hideaways if they're going to survive."

Leah grabbed him by one arm and pulled him towards her. She was not going to free his hands, but she was certainly going to enlist his help. She would need as much help as possible now, since she had just made an enemy of ONI. They were far-reaching, and they would likely hunt her down to the very edges of the galaxy to bring her in to answer for whatever crimes they felt like charging her with. Even more so since she was a Spartan, she realised, as ONI would not allow a Spartan-II to run free from the UNSC, not for very long anyway.

"You're coming with me," Leah ordered. The Skirmisher got the message and fell in line. With one hand clasping his arm, she started through the house in the direction of the garage. The shooting had ceased for now, as the remaining ONI operatives started to surround the property.

Nolte moved down the hallway and went into an adjoining room. Inside here, he pulled open a cabinet and revealed a further set of guns contained inside, yet it was the bundle of grenades he grabbed from it. He came back out into the hallway and he threw Leah the grenades, which were all hanging loosely from a belt of sorts. Weapons like that would have been illegal in UNSC space for civilians to own, but Nolte had likely stopped following the rules upon leaving the UNSC. This was Thrace, and here just about everyone owned more than one gun, and they were usually the powerful and illegal sorts at that. Grenades in Nolte's possession hardly came as a surprise, and Leah took them without question.

The front door flew off of its hinges then, sending the already hole-ridden wooden door crashing onto the floor. One of the operatives was standing in the doorway, weapon raised, and he let fly with a blast from his shotgun. Part of the wall near Nolte's head exploded, plaster and wood spraying outwards. Nolte ducked and swivelled around as he did so, bringing his shotgun to bear in one fluid movement before he pulled the trigger. The operative fell backwards down the front steps, landing in a heap on the sand outside, a large jagged hole torn through his chest.

Leah moved into a nearby room, a store room of sorts that was cluttered with all manner of bric-a-brac. There was another door here, leading into the garage, and she kicked it open as she approached. With her pistol in her right hand, she stepped into the garage and swept the weapon over the desert-coloured civilian Warthog parked inside. The garage door was closed, and there appeared to be no intruders within, so she moved for the vehicle with both Accord and Jak'Talva behind her.

A window shattered somewhere in the house, and Leah was back at the door as another of the operatives stormed in. Nolte fired a shot at him as the operative emerged from the bedroom further down the hall, the blast enough to blow a sizeable chunk out of the doorframe. The operative ducked under the shower of splinters, before he leaned around the doorway and opened fire with his M7 submachine gun. The rapid fire weapon hosed the hallway down with the smaller rounds, and Nolte was caught in the hail as he backed off into the store room. The Marine veteran caught about six in the chest, blood splattering in their wake, before he hit the floor in a heap with his hands still around his shotgun and blood all over his front.

Leah rushed to his side. With one shaking hand, Nolte thrust the keys to the Warthog towards her. He had a pained look on his face, and his grip on his gun was faltering. Nonetheless, his eyes carried severe determination, the look of someone who would accept no other end than a fighting one.

"Get out of here," Nolte demanded. Leah could see from his wounds that he was unlikely to make it, certainly not without proper medical attention, the sort he was unlikely to receive in time. Leah took the keys from him, before she rose onto her feet and stormed back into the garage.

The operative stepped into the doorway of the store room then, and received a face full of buckshot from Nolte. The front of his head disappeared into a red, wet mess, before his body hit the wall behind it and slumped across it, leaving a large wet smear of blood in its wake.

Leah slapped the garage door control, and the rickety metal door began to rise, grinding in its housing. She pulled open the passenger's side door of the civilian model Warthog, and she looked to Accord before gesturing towards it.

"Get in." To her relief, the Forerunner did not hesitate. He bundled himself inside, despite his bulky frame, and she slammed the door closed after him.

Ahead, the garage door was about halfway up. Leah saw the shadow of movement underneath and instinctively fired towards it, planting two bullets through the moving sheet of metal. She heard a subdued _crunch_ from the other side as the operative she had sighted fell to the ground. Without further delay, she climbed into the driver's seat, aware that Jak'Talva had pulled open one of the backdoors and had hurriedly climbed inside.

With the keys in one hand, she jammed them into the ignition and hit the accelerator hard as soon as the engine came to life. The Warthog lurched forwards, and she spotted Eric by one of the armoured vehicles as they came hurtling out of the garage. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she put her pistol aside and grabbed the bundle of grenades. They were of the typical explosive fragmentation variety, likely to shake up anything wearing armour if they were used one at a time. But together like this, about five of them? It would be a pretty sizeable explosion.

With the flick of a switch, the window on her side slid open. She pulled the pin on one of the grenades as she spun the wheel with her other hand, putting them parallel with the pair of stationary armoured vehicles. Behind them, two operatives had come running from the sides of the house, weapons firing at the escaping Warthog. Eric must have seen what she was about to do, as his head turned her way and for a moment she could have sworn their eyes met, even through the visor that covered his face. He started to run as she underarmed the bundle of grenades towards the armoured vehicle, landing it between its back wheels. With this done, she sent the Warthog racing for the gravel road that wound from Nolte's property, down the hill and into the mostly barren, rocky expanse that existed between his property and the town of Deckar's Stand.

She did not know what to feel now. She simply kept on driving, and she did not even look back when the explosion occurred. The grenades went off, with the first being the catalyst that caused the other four to detonate. The armoured car was lifted off of its wheels from the force of the explosion, fire and smoke roaring out from underneath it. The other armoured car was knocked backwards several paces, its front end being briefly shrouded in a rush of flame. Jak'Talva had turned his head to watch the whole thing, and by all appearances he was practically awe-struck by the rising rush of flames and black smoke, as well as the smouldering wreck of the armoured car as it came crashing back down to the ground, a few of its wheels missing.

Leah kept driving. Accord sat quietly beside her, the look in his eyes a distant one. So much had happened in so little a time, and Accord was likely trying to wrap his own head around it. As for Leah, she knew full well what she had just done, throwing away her life to protect the last Forerunner. She had known from day one that ONI could not be trusted, and had she remained working for them against the Insurrectionists, she might have been able to tolerate them. Now, however, things had changed radically, and she could no longer work for ONI based on principle. If they wanted to kill her, they would have to come and get her. For now, she had to formulate some kind of actual plan if any of them were going to survive the next day or so.

As she set the Warthog onto a fairly straight and level stretch of road, she glanced back at Jak'Talva, who was on the backseat.

"Direct me to one of your 'hideaways'," Leah ordered. "And don't try anything funny."

Jak'Talva nodded his head in understanding, and he eagerly began reciting off directions.


	17. Interception

**Interception**

The Office of Naval Intelligence had been interfering with Carson's affairs for a number of months now. He had suspected as much some time ago, when certain shipments were being lost, and that some of the more independently-minded people he had come to rely on for certain things had started to disappear. ONI had a habit of 'disappearing' people, and Carson knew that eventually they would come for him.

It had taken some doing, and a great deal of money, but he had had certain improvements made to the technology he had access to in such a way that frequencies not available to the public were in turn made available to him. Coded messages and the like, encrypted data transfers that ONI often shot along slipspace buoys as one listening post passed on a message to another. According to the message he had just received, something very intriguing had cropped up along these channels, a message that did not entirely make a great deal of sense at first, but was notable in its apparent importance.

Carson had taken a seat in the tent that had been set aside for command. It was sparse, featuring a desk, a chair and a computer terminal but little else, save for one portable air conditioning unit that was currently blasting cold air into the confines of the dark green tent. Carson flipped around the piece of paper that the message had been printed on, as if expecting to find some kind of secret on the blank side, before he turned it back around and read it one more time:

TO GATEKEEPER:

CAUTION: ADVISE:

COVENANT INCURSION. LIGHT AND SHADOW LOST. WARRIOR MIA. S022 UNPREDICTABLE, ROGUE. REQUEST ADVICE ASAP.

CODE: 0922T-OKAMA-DISTANT THUNDER

At a glance, it sounded nonsensical. The words and terms no doubt meant a lot to ONI, but to someone outside of their circle it would seem like it could be referring to all manner of things. Carson knew how ONI operated, and he knew that every brief bit of information in the message meant something. Even now, his mind was sifting through all its disparate pieces, hunting for whatever may have been relevant.

He could only assume that 'Gatekeeper' was the ONI network, or the chief hub. Perhaps even an AI. 'Covenant Incursion' was obvious, but 'Light and Shadow'? It was something tangible, a name, Carson assumed. Perhaps a ship? Carson took a pen and began to scribble down his suspicions on the notepad in front of him, opting for a more physical outlet other than his computer terminal, being the old-fashioned man he was.

 _Light and Shadow: Ship. Person? Weapon?_ He underlined the word 'ship'. The UNSC was sometimes fond of giving their vessels peculiar names. As for the 'Warrior'? This was interesting. Could it be referring to a Spartan? The 'S022' part of the message seemed to indicate as much. Could they be referring to the same person? A rogue Spartan, a 'Warrior', who ONI had deemed 'unpredictable'? If this had indeed happened, then Carson may very well be able to take advantage of such a thing. A Spartan going rogue? That was almost unheard of. Of course, the 'Warrior' could be something else entirely. This was the crucial point, Carson realised. Were the 'Warrior' and 'S022' the same thing, or entirely different from each other? He wrote down this conjecture, and circled it, complete with a large, lingering question mark.

Something was going on with ONI and their lackeys here on Thrace. He intended on finding out what, preferably before they went on to shoot up any further restaurants. With this in mind, he figured his plate was starting to fill up, with the Covenant incursion still in progress and very much at the forefront of his problems. Especially now, with their attack being prepared, one that Carson hoped would throw the Covenant off of his planet, given the token force they had sent.

Staff Sergeant Baird walked in then, pushing open the flap of the tent. He stopped before the desk, and Carson, his train of thought broken, put his notes aside and shifted his attention to the Staff Sergeant.

"What is it?" He asked him.

"The troops are ready, Colonel. All we need is your order."

This was it then. The moment of truth. His independent force of soldiers would either prove themselves, or fail miserably. He somehow did not expect a middling result.

"Excellent news, Staff Sergeant. Give them the word to take their positions, and make sure the mortar support is good to go. We're going to soften up our alien friends a little first, before we send the men in. I think that sounds good, don't you?" He rose to his feet, not at all expecting an answer to what was a rhetorical question. Baird, as reliable as he was, did give a reply nonetheless.

"Sounds great, Colonel."

Carson walked by him and left the tent, with the Staff Sergeant falling into step behind him. It was late afternoon now, and the air had cooled somewhat, making for more tolerable conditions outside. The camp was a hub of activity, with soldiers milling about in preparation for the strike. Baird began shouting orders to some of those that passed by, making sure that they were doing their jobs. Carson was on his way to the edge of the camp, to the spot amongst the rocks that he had taken to using as an observation point for the old mining town, currently occupied by unwanted alien visitors. Baird went off to prepare the soldiers, and within the next ten minutes they would start shelling the Covenant positions. Carson would watch this from here, as he had often found blowing up aliens made for great entertainment.

* * *

Somewhere nearby, hidden amongst some rocks on the edge of the clearing that surrounded the old mining town, both Davam and Narsa observed the Covenant positions. Davam had been keeping a close eye on them for the last half an hour or so, ensuring that he had the movements of the guards on memory in preparation for the pair's advance. A Phantom drop-ship was parked at one end of the ruined town, and the Covenant soldiers within had constructed a makeshift camp complete with a purple prefabricated structure that Davam knew at a glance to be the command centre.

As his studies of Arnvar 'Sraom had shown, the self-titled 'Baron' liked to be directly involved in any mission or the like. He was probably in that very structure, the squat box-shaped thing it was, and the thought of this filled Davam with anticipation. It was the sensation of one who knew they would get their vengeance soon enough, that it was well within reach after so many months of searching.

Narsa was crouched to his left, outfitted in his light blue acolyte training armour. Ever since their discussion earlier, where Davam had made their family ties clear, Narsa had been quiet. He had followed instructions without question, and he had seemed more sure of himself. Receiving the truth from his father had steeled him somehow, and Davam was grateful for having told him it. They had to trust each other for this to work, and Davam felt he had certainly gained a good deal of that trust today.

Davam put aside his Covenant-issue binoculars and turned to his son. Indeed, it was almost like looking in a mirror, albeit Narsa's face was not quite so worn-out looking, and his skin was a slightly lighter shade of brown.

"We will move in from the east," Davam said. "You will stay close to me, and you will only kill whom I tell you, and when. We must retain the element of surprise for as long as possible." He checked his plasma rifle, ensuring the charge was full before he started to move around the rocks. Narsa followed suit, his carbine held at port arms as the pair of them traversed the rocky slope and came upon the grassy plain that surrounded the old human town.

At a glance, the place looked unwelcoming, with crumbling walls and hollow husks of buildings. Davam could imagine the life that had once been here, many years before, prior to whatever fate had befallen them to incite the townspeople to leave. Human buildings were often so utilitarian, particularly on these further colonies of theirs, and even the Covenant architecture on the most backwater of worlds put it to shame. Nonetheless, there was something that felt 'off' about this whole place, as if an eerie air hung over the whole town. It was probably just his own doubts, buried as they were, overlaying themselves across what was around him. He put his mind fully to the task at hand, and moving low, he began to cross the grassy plain with his son in tow. There was a lookout on the crumbling wall that surrounded parts of the town, a Kig-Yar marksman who stood on one corner of the wall with its yellow eyes scanning the horizon.

Davam motioned to his son to keep low, and the pair descended into a grass filled ditch, the dry desert shrubs scratching at their exposed skin. From here, they had a fairly straight run to the wall, and the marksman stood on top, their view of him partially obscured by the grass at the edge of the ditch. Here, Davam gestured to Narsa to move up alongside him, and the younger Sangheili lay prone against the side of the ditch, jutting his head up ever so slightly with his carbine set to his shoulder. It would be a risk, taking a shot, but Davam was sure they could get away with it. He simply wanted his son to prove himself, and making the first kill on their crusade for vengeance would be a good way of doing it, or at least start it.

"When I say, I want you to shoot the sentry," Davam said quietly. Narsa's eyes were trained down the scope on the Covenant carbine. Watching him now, Davam noticed that his hands were slightly unsteady, with the weapon rested on the ground in an effort to both stabilise it, but also to make his anxiety less prominent. Davam knew that his son was completely inexperienced when it came to killing, and that he had run and hidden during the attack on their keep. He was no warrior, he had not even finished his training. Davam had confidence in his son, yet even that did not completely allay his doubts. Narsa was untested, and traumatised from witnessing the deaths of so many during the attack on the keep. Bringing him out here had been dangerous, mostly for Narsa himself.

"One shot, no more," Davam added. "Anything beyond that will draw us unneeded attention." The Covenant Carbine was not a terribly loud weapon, but it did make a signature noise and as such even one shot with it was likely to draw some guards over to investigate. Even so, they had to chance it. Davam, for once, wished he had acquired one of those human-made 'suppressed' weapons, ones where the noise was negligible yet the lethality considerable.

"On my count," Davam said. Narsa's grip tightened on the grip of the carbine. "One…" Davam saw the wind pick up, and a warm breeze wafted across them, ruffling the dry grass and desert shrubs all around.

"Two…" The Kig-Yar marksman on the wall turned and began to slowly walk across the length of the old stone brick wall. Narsa's aim tracked him, easily done given the leisurely rate at which the Kig-Yar moved.

"Three." Davam heard the shot, which was over in a split second. The Kig-Yar marksman spun slightly one way, a bloody purple blotch appearing on his chest armour. Unceremoniously, the alien fell forwards from the wall and hit the ground at the base of it with a subdued _crunch_. Davam put a hand to the top of the carbine in his son's grasp, finding that the young male's grip had become tight upon the weapon, dangerously so. It was the first time Narsa had taken a life, and the effect it was having on him was already apparent.

"Wait." Davam pulled at the carbine, trying to wrench it from his son's grip. It took a few tugs, but eventually Narsa got the message and allowed Davam to take the weapon from him. He left it between them as Davam returned his attention to the town ahead, and the pair of them waited a moment for any sign that they had drawn other enemies to them. After making a mental count to thirty, Davam felt satisfied that they had successfully taken down the sentry without raising any genuine suspicion.

"On your feet," Davam instructed. He climbed out of the ditch himself, and Narsa followed him, picking up the carbine as he went. The young male's mood had soured noticeably, but he remained silent and kept whatever emotions he felt well-buried.

Davam rushed for the base of the crumbling wall, finding a sizeable gap further to his right that had been overgrown with prickly desert brush. This was easily traversed by the two armoured Sangheili, and the pair emerged into the edge of the former human town, now little more than a blotch on the landscape, comprised of rundown buildings and lost hopes. Once, human colonists had settled here to try and make it rich working the mines and the wealth of unique metal deposits under the soil. For whatever reason, this town had fallen apart and the mining company had taken their business elsewhere. Indeed, many had lost their hope in a place like this.

There was a square-shaped building just on the inside of the wall, rundown and empty. Davam crouched by it, peering out onto the lane that ran ahead of it. The Covenant camp was further ahead, having been erected down a slope near some kind of excavation site. One of the former mining tunnels, no doubt, dug out by the humans who had once inhabited this place. The tunnel entrance seemed to be the focal point of the movements of the Covenant soldiers, with numerous purple metal crates of Covenant design scattered around, having deposited digging equipment, food supplies and the like. The command prefab was in the middle of it all, and behind that was the dormant Phantom. All of this was within reach of Davam, and his eyes fixed upon the command prefab. He could almost sense Arnvar 'Sraom lurking within. Vengeance was well within his grasp, and the sensation of this drove him forwards. Narsa followed, as Davam scanned their surroundings while the pair hurriedly crossed the narrow lane. They took cover beside another hollow beige brick building, its windows empty and the desert breeze stirring up the dust inside.

Ahead, roaming around the front of the camp, was a Sangheili Minor accompanied by a pair of Unggoy. They stood guard, with the Sangheili being the most attentive of the trio. The Unggoy were typically bored and loping around with very little energy or enthusiasm, likely conscripts who had been forced to serve whatever splinter faction of the former Covenant Arnvar 'Sraom now lead. Davam looked to Narsa, who had stopped beside him and seemed unsure of himself. More so from the way he gripped his weapon, as if he did not like having it in his hands.

"We have to eliminate those guards," Davam said. He met Narsa's eyes and saw the uncertainty within them. "The Baron is here. I know it. He would be in the command structure. Between us are a handful of guards. Revenge is within reach. Get excited, boy. We are about to fulfil the right of vengeance for our entire clan."

"He's a Sangheili," Narsa said. He referred to the Minor on guard ahead. Davam frowned.

"That is no Sangheili," he replied. "No true Sangheili would align themselves with someone like Baron 'Sraom. The Baron is a disgrace to Sangheili everywhere, one driven by greed, whose sense of honour is sorely lacking." Granted, he had never met Baron 'Sraom in person. However, he knew full well the Baron's reputation, and had learned a great deal of the things he had done in the past. Dishonourable things, lying and cheating, attaining wealth while trampling on entire families to do so. For whatever reason, he had lead the attack on the 'Ktham clan, and Davam intended to kill him for it.

Davam did not wait for his son to gain his nerve. Instead, he moved from around the building and opened fire with his plasma rifle, sending a streaming volley of blue energy bolts down-range. The Sangheili Minor copped the brunt of them, his shields flaring up and collapsing under the withering hail. The two Unggoy with him jumped in surprise, one of them emitting a high-pitched yelp. The Sangheili Minor stumbled and Davam continued firing, hosing him down with plasma, his weapon nearing the verge of overheating before he finally let go of the trigger. The Sangheili Minor fell backwards, blood streaming down his torso from the many holes that had been burned through him. As for the Unggoy, they were both easily swept aside, with Davam blowing both away without a moment's thought. The methane tanks on one detonated in a small green flash, blowing the Unggoy's corpse several feet to one side.

With this done, Davam moved on ahead. Narsa followed behind him, somewhat reluctantly. As the pair entered the camp, they were met by a trio of Kig-Yar with their energy shields up, rushing to investigate the noise. Davam let them have it, firing his plasma rifle into the three of them, cutting one down into a bloody mess before his weapon overheated. The remaining pair went to scatter, but Davam did not give them this opportunity, and he instead pulled his energy blade and activated it. The twin-pronged sword appeared in his hand, literally smoking with the white-hot energy it exuded. He swung it in a wide arc, severing the head from one of the Kig-Yar, before turning to the other as it raised its shield in an attempt to deflect the blow. Davam knocked it aside with the back of his other arm, before plunging the blade into the alien's stomach and disembowelling it with a cutting motion. He pulled it free, allowing the screeching Kig-Yar's roasted guts to fall out onto the ground before the alien went down with them, its last vestiges of life fading.

Davam charged ahead, driven by a vengeance-fuelled anger, that drove him forwards with little to no thought of what was happening around him. The command structure was within reach, and he promptly charged through the doorway at the front, passing through a set of purple curtains before he stepped into a well-lit and surprisingly cool circular room within. A holographic projector was in the centre, and behind it was the very Sangheili whom Davam had been searching for.

Arnvar 'Sraom wore an elaborate set of black armour and a cape that carried his family crest. He looked up at the intruder, and much to Davam's chagrin he hardly seemed bothered.

"I was told, some time ago, that I had angered someone enough to drive them to come for me," Baron 'Sraom said. He took a step back from the projector and started around it, closing the distance between the two of them ever so slightly. Davam could have lunged for him, tried to finish it then, but something stopped him. He realised that Narsa was no longer behind him, and his hearts skipped at the realisation.

"A veteran Ranger, a warrior who has seen countless battles and killed many enemies," 'Sraom continued. He put his hands behind his back, standing up straight as he did so, giving himself a very aristocratic air. "I know about your search for me, Davam 'Ktham. I knew that one day you would find me. I did not expect it to be here, on this wretched world." 'Sraom took a breath, before his eyes went to the blade pointed his way. "Go ahead, Ranger. Finish your work, otherwise do not waste my time. I have far more pressing matters to attend to."

The thought that somehow this was all an inconvenience to the Baron angered Davam to no end. He swung his blade down, and Baron 'Sraom sidestepped the swing with ease. His arms came out, and he grabbed Davam in such a way that he was able to send the enraged Sangheili forwards, his own momentum carrying him into the projector and the holographic map of the region it had displayed. Davam recovered from the impact with the console quickly and swivelled around, swinging again as the Baron ducked under the strike. As he came up, he delivered a sharp elbow to Davam's gut, before one of his hands went for the one that Davam had clenched around the hilt of his blade. With a twist, the Baron caused him to drop it, and the blade deactivated upon losing all physical contact with Davam.

Baron 'Sraom forced Davam upon the console behind him, clutching his throat with one hand, holding him down with all of his weight behind him. Davam thrashed against him angrily, embarrassed to have lost so easily. The Baron held him down with a surprising amount of strength, and he peered into Davam's furious eyes.

"You have let your anger cloud your judgement," Baron 'Sraom said, his tone level, the physical exertion having barely fazed him. "What did you come here expecting to do? Kill me? Do you think I would let some old wash-out like yourself kill me?" Arnvar 'Sraom practically snorted at this. "Look at you. You are well past your prime, old man, and you are no doubt hoping to die doing something worthwhile. Perhaps I can give you that wish, right here and now?"

He reached to the waist of his armour and from there he pulled a small energy blade. The blue blade extended to several inches long, and he held it close to Davam's neck. The older Sangheili shifted his head back slightly, yet even now he could feel his hearts pounding. 'Sraom could kill him, and he would die for nothing.

"But I can do one better." He took the blade from Davam's neck and hoisted the older Sangheili back onto his feet. With a sharp strike to the gut, he forced Davam to keel over slightly, enough for 'Sraom to force the veteran to his knees. Another strike caught Davam across the face, causing his head to reel back before the force of the blow sent him into the floor with a loud _thump_. As his head spun, a figure appeared in the doorway of the tent. It was Narsa, he saw, and behind him came two other Sangheili who dragged him along before forcing the young male to his knees.

Baron 'Sraom walked up to Narsa, who by this point had been beaten somewhat, with purple blood trickling from a cut above one eye. The look in those eyes was one of sheer terror, and Davam could only lash out in anger at the sight of his son being at the mercy of such a ruthless foe. At that moment, Baron 'Sraom kicked him in the back of one leg, knocking him onto his side.

"You came all this way to kill me," 'Sraom said. He did not sound proud, so he was not gloating. It was a simple statement of fact. "You tracked me down halfway across this galaxy just to kill me. Why? What could you honestly gain from such a crusade? Surely you have better things to do with your time?"

"The right…of vengeance…"

"So hung up in your old ways," 'Sraom interrupted. Now he did sound disdainful. "What have they got us, Ranger? Our society is still in the dark ages compared to others. It is embarrassing, and it is no wonder races like the humans can so easily manipulate us. They have had their agents on our home-world and its colonies trying to instigate civil war, and they have done so very successfully. As for myself, I only wish for soldiers of my own to command, which Jul 'Mdama so kindly granted. You must be wondering why I attacked your clan's keep? Why I had my soldiers slaughter every man, woman and child?"

'Sraom took a step to Davam, grabbing him by the neck before lifting him up. They looked at each other squarely in the eyes, and Davam saw nothing but contempt in the way the Baron was looking at him.

"I did it as an example, on behalf of 'Mdama himself," Baron 'Sraom said. "So, in a sense, you have wasted your time. I may have lead the attack, but Jul 'Mdama ordered it, during a time in which I was in his service. Stuck up and superstitious, I made sure to cut my ties with him as soon as the opportunity arose. As for the 'Ktham clan, it was all business. The fortunes in your keep's treasury have done much to keep my army funded."

Davam roared at him then, rising to his feet and swinging a fist that connected harshly with the Baron's right set of mandibles. The blow was enough to make him stumble backwards a few steps, but the Baron recovered quickly, one hand rubbing at the affected area while the other two Sangheili rushed for Davam. They both forced him back upon his knees, kicking him in the back and the stomach to keep him down. Davam put up his arms against their attacks, yet it was not enough to stop all the powerful blows from getting through. He found himself under a constant barrage of kicks, most leaving bruises and a few opening cuts on his head and neck. Finally, the Baron took a step forward and gestured to the pair to stop.

"You came here for nothing," Baron 'Sraom said. Slowly, Davam rose back onto his knees, looking up to the Baron and straight into his eyes. He felt nothing but hatred for the Baron, and he wanted nothing more than to relieve his head from his neck. Once the Baron was dead, Jul 'Mdama would be next. "You cannot even kill me, you are so clearly past the prime of your life. It must be painful, to have come so close yet to have failed." He looked to Narsa, who had kept his gaze downcast the entire time. "And you brought your son along on your fool's journey." With the blade in hand, he walked up to where Narsa knelt, and moved behind him. One hand brought the boy's head up and to the side, his eyes going wide as realisation hit him as to what was about to occur.

"You will both die here," 'Sraom stated. "I cannot have you both chasing me down. Loose ends are one thing I wish to avoid." Having made his point, he put the energy blade against Narsa's neck and in one long, fluid movement he slashed it open. Blood poured out of the severed arteries like running water, flowing down the front of Narsa's armour and dripping upon the floor. The look in his son's eyes went from one of pain and fear to a simple glassy one, as his life left him rapidly, spilling out across the floor as it was.

Davam saw this and his rage exploded. The Baron released Narsa, allowing him to fall to the floor as he twitched, blood spilling out all around him. Davam rose to his feet quickly, throwing aside the pair of guards who had been standing near him. He lunged for the Baron, tackling him, before carrying the both of them through the tent entrance and into the outside air.

There was little else on Davam's mind now other than revenge. His thoughts were a blur, and his body reacted automatically as he fell upon the Baron and began laying into him, one punch after another, slamming his fists into the Baron's face. He got a few punches in before pain erupted at his back, first one point and then another, as one of the guards shot him from behind with a plasma pistol. Davam groaned and fell away from the Baron, the searing hot pain of the plasma burns overtaking everything else. As he hit the ground, the Baron rose back to his feet, his cape dirtied and his face slightly bruised and bloodied.

"I won't even give you the courtesy of killing you myself!" The Baron's overall calm exterior fell away then, if only for a moment, as he glared down at Davam with anger etched upon his face and blazing in his eyes. He motioned to the guard who had shot Davam to come forward, and it was clear that he was going to let his lackey do the dirty work.

By this point, Davam's anger had faded, replaced with despair and frustration. He had just watched his son die, something he had never thought he would have to experience. He had already lost two sons in the war, but that had happened far away from his own eyes. To have seen another die right in front of him, all the while he had been unable to stop it…

As the guard took aim with his pistol, something exploded. It happened only metres away, a loud crash followed by an eruption of smoke and dirt that came raining down upon them. The force of the detonation knocked the guard aside, and the Baron stumbled away from Davam's view amongst the rain of dirt. Another explosion occurred, and then another, all within the camp as it became quickly apparent that they were under attack.

Davam had been through similar before. Human weapons, launching explosive shells from a long distance. He quickly scrambled onto his feet using a bout of newfound strength. He turned to the Baron, but his foe was nowhere to be seen, seemingly vanished in the growing haze. Further mortar rounds landed nearby, and the command structure went up with a _thump_ and crash of metal, fire erupting from the doorway as the roof fell in. Davam had to steady himself against a nearby crate as the force of the blast threatened to knock him over. His ears ringing from the noise, he turned around and started out of the camp.

Somewhere distant, he could hear weapons fire. Human guns mostly, their distinct and rapid-fire _cracks_ echoing throughout the abandoned town. Davam stumbled, the pain at his back flaring. He could feel blood running down from the wounds, and it was likely that the armour there had fused with the flesh, courtesy of the intense heat of a plasma bolt. If he intended to survive, and he did, he would need to get treatment. As much of an old-fashioned Sangheili he was, he had no aversion to medicine. Many friends he had seen die during the war could have been saved, had they received proper treatment in time. Such pointless deaths could have been avoided…

He had brought his son here to die. The realisation hit him hard, and the anguish that threatened to overtake everything else was only held back by sheer resolve. Narsa had barely been into adulthood, and Davam had dragged him here on his personal quest for vengeance. Davam had brought him here to die, and he had seen it all happen before his very eyes. Baron 'Sraom would pay for what he had done.

Davam rounded a building, before the pain at his back intensified to the point that he could no longer stand. He fell against the wall, smearing purple blood against it, as he slumped to the base of it. The strength left his arms and legs, and he fell limp, his vision fading. He fought to remain conscious, but in his weakened state it was a losing battle. To his right, he saw movement, and he tilted his head that way in order to catch a glimpse. Was it one of the Baron's soldiers, come to kill him? Perhaps death would be a relief now, and it would at the very least reunite him with his son.

Instead, he saw three human soldiers in rugged desert-coloured combat outfits. They had their weapons trained on him as they approached, and one of them signalled to the others. The trio stopped, and Davam caught a glimpse of the lead soldier's face as he knelt by the Sangheili and looked him over carefully. There was curiosity in his eyes, and it was a look that told Davam he would not be dying after all.


	18. Smuggler's Safehouse

**Smuggler's Safehouse**

As with any place where people had gone to find wealth, the majority of those who had made the journey failed to find what they sought. After their departure, following their failure to realise their dream, they left behind elements of civilisation. Houses, vehicles and the like, all abandoned as if some kind of cataclysm had claimed the inhabitants. Thrace was a planet that had many marks of attempted settlement upon it, yet so far the main settlement of Deckar's Stand had had the longevity required to form a stable society. Deserted buildings dotted the surrounding deserts, many of them long-empty husks exposed to the elements.

Leah was relieved when Jak'Talva provided the directions to something a bit more substantial. A garage of sorts, it was located off on a gravel road that branched from the main highway leading out of Deckar's Stand, yet was far enough away for it to be a little-known place that the Skirmisher had used as a safehouse on more than one occasion. On the outside, it was a mostly squat rectangular building with a gravel drive-way and a pair of rolling garage doors. The front windows were boarded over, and the metal door was shut tight. Leah parked their car around the back of the old garage, before she climbed out and moved to check the perimeter, before the others could follow. Doing this gave her an opportunity to think to herself, and to try and come up with some kind of plan of action.

The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, and the temperature had cooled slightly. For the Thracian desert, 'cooled slightly' usually meant uncomfortably hot, and Leah's body remained slick with sweat as she moved around the dusty concrete building. There was a fenced-off area at the back occupied by the rusted hulk of an old car and a whole host of scrap vehicle parts, most of which were eroded by the wind and sand and rusted beyond use.

Leah walked around to the front. Here, she paused for a moment, as her mind replayed the events from earlier. She had turned against ONI, and in doing so she had brought upon herself a whole world of trouble. They would never stop hunting her, and they certainly would never stop searching for the Forerunner. She had essentially gone AWOL, albeit in a far more serious manner, given the fact that she had pulled a gun on a fellow Spartan and had shot a handful of ONI operatives. Yet thinking back to what had happened, she could see that the whole thing had spiralled well out of her control. And her conscience would simply not allow ONI to take Accord and use him in some warped experiments…

Nolte had been right, she realised. When they had spoken yesterday, he had said as much. She had finally developed an actual conscience. She was human, more so than she had ever been, and because of it she was as uncertain and anxious as any other human would be in her situation. Not only that, she had the last Forerunner counting on her. She might have had pressure upon her before, particularly during combat missions, but this felt so much more important. That what she was doing was necessary, as if it had been ingrained into her very being.

She tried the front door. It was shut tight. Jak'Talva had given her a key, except now she realised it was for the backdoor, a fact that the Skirmisher had neglected to mention. As it stood, the place appeared empty. Moving around the building, she returned to the rear fence before she motioned to the parked Warthog. Both Accord and Jak'Talva emerged, with the Forerunner's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the mostly barren plain they were seemingly smack in the middle of.

Leah scaled the rusted metal fence with ease, as did Jak'Talva. As for Accord, he did not so much as scale it as knock the mostly flimsy thing down, bending one section in enough with his weight that he was able to simply walk on into the yard. With this done, Leah walked over to the rear door, and here she tried the key that Jak'Talva had supplied. It was an old-fashioned lock, completely mechanical with no computer keypad or palm scanner or anything else of the sort. Such simple technology was still in use in a lot of places, especially out on the frontier colonies where things had to be reliable and durable.

It occurred to her that Jak'Talva had been stripped of anything he might have been carrying in his pockets during his stint on the frigate, so Leah was left wondering, if only for a moment, where he might have been keeping his set of keys. She decided not to think about it too hard, and instead used the appropriate key on the lock. She felt some relief when it turned and the lock disengaged, allowing her to push the door open into the dusty, dimly lit interior beyond.

The room within was small, a backroom by all accounts, with a door leading into a short corridor that ran between the offices and the garages themselves. Leah moved cautiously through the building, checking her corners, scanning her surroundings. The building was quiet, with the only noises being her footsteps and those of her companions. A few of the floorboards creaked underfoot, but otherwise there was very little else to pick up on. Behind her, Jak'Talva closed the door as soon as the three of them were in, locking it from the inside as an added precaution. He strode ahead confidently, brushing past Leah. By this point she had untied his hands, not that she trusted him, but it had seemed the prudent thing to do. As for their prior disagreements, the Skirmisher appeared to have forgotten them, and acted with the kind of confidence she might have expected from someone who knew they were in charge, even if Jak'Talva was anything but.

"I've spent some time hiding out here," Jak'Talva said. He passed through the doorway ahead, entering the larger front room that was occupied by what had once been a reception desk. Now it was dusty and bare, although the swivel chair behind it was still in place, albeit worn out. "It's not much, but I managed to make it cosy enough for myself. Even stashed some supplies in here, for those times I needed to stay in hiding for prolonged periods." He moved behind the desk and pulled a metal box from underneath. It was a UNSC supply crate, and he cracked open the top and revealed the MREs stuffed inside. "Perhaps you're hungry?" He picked one of them up and offered it to Leah as she walked inside. The Spartan took it with some uncertainty, as she was not going to trust the Skirmisher much with food, of all things.

"I suppose you've stashed weapons here as well?" Leah tore open the wrapper of the MRE, a nutrient bar that was supposedly roast chicken flavour. It hardly looked the part, and it smelled more like a mix between cardboard and the metal of the box it had been stored in.

"Here? No, not really." Jak'Talva knelt down under the desk and from under it he pulled a dusty looking rifle, specifically a rugged semi-automatic model that was about fifty years old and popular amongst civilians in the Outer Colonies. "I do have this." Leah was quick to snatch it from him, hardly trusting the Skirmisher enough to carry a gun. Jak'Talva looked almost disappointed, but he did not protest. He rose back to his feet and looked over to Accord, who had just stepped into the room.

"What do we do now?" The Skirmisher asked aloud. "More so, what do we do with the big guy?" Jak'Talva sat down on the old swivel chair and began to spin it back and forth, each movement causing the rusted mechanism to creak loudly.

Leah turned to Accord. The Skirmisher made a good point: just what were they going to do next? ONI would be after them, and Carson's people would certainly be unfriendly.

"I need to think that over," Leah said. She was at a loss, and what ideas came to mind did not strike her as good ones. She had, after all, just thrown away the life she had known for most of her years. Now she had to reap the consequences of her decision, no matter how morally sound it may have been. "ONI has people everywhere. They'll be looking for us, and they won't stop until they've found us."

"If we stay here," Accord said, his voice level, "What can we expect to happen?" He directed the question to Leah. It was one she was not completely sure on, as she had never been on the receiving end of an ONI manhunt before.

"If we stay on Thrace, we're as good as dead," Leah replied. "We need a way off. We need to find somewhere else, out on the frontier, where we can lay low. The only problem is, ONI will likely anticipate that kind of move." She frowned, trying to think of a way around it. None came to mind.

"Looks like we're all in the same boat," Jak'Talva said. "The three of us, all naughty fugitives for different reasons." He sounded almost amuseed. "I think we should approach this one step at a time. That means we get off of this planet, something I've been wanting to do for a while."

"How do you suggest we do that?" Leah could see that the Skirmisher was really only thinking of himself. He wanted off of Thrace, and he certainly knew his chances of survival were far greater if he stuck with the Spartan and the Forerunner. "I have no ship. Accord certainly doesn't."

"I have one," Jak'Talva replied. "How do you think I came here? How do you think I transport my merchandise?" Now he sounded pleased with himself. Revelling in having things his companions did not seemed to be a trait of his. "Of course, by this point it's been impounded and I haven't got the means to get past such measures."

Leah could already see a plan forming here. ONI would have most certainly locked down Jak'Talva's ship, either them or the local authorities under Carson, who may have seen it as useful once they had lost Jak'Talva. He probably kept a good deal of his 'merchandise' stored in his vessel, merchandise that Carson's people would have happily claimed upon hearing of the Skirmisher's arrest.

"We can take your ship," Leah said. Perhaps there was some hope to their situation after all?

"Indeed we can. It's a freighter of T'vaon design, old but reliable. It's sitting in a spaceport in Deckar's Stand and is most likely under guard by the local authorities, or perhaps even your own people, Leah. It's nothing a Spartan should have difficulty in overcoming."

Leah nodded her head slowly. There was a plan shaping up here, one she could certainly go along with. It was nothing as detailed as she would have normally been comfortable with, but given the circumstances it was better than nothing and she had no intention of staying on Thrace any longer than she had to. With that in mind, she became aware of her general state of weariness, given the amount of time since she had last had some proper sleep. She had slept rough plenty of times in the past, and this time around she would at least have a roof over her head, which was a step up over lying in some ditch on a distant battlefield in full armour and weapons fire going off all the time.

"ONI would have most likely claimed your freighter," Leah said. "They would have the systems locked down, accessible through certain codes. It's standard procedure when claiming criminal ships." She put aside the rifle, keeping it on the desk with one hand on the hilt as she thought over this rapidly developing plan of action. "Those codes will be at the safehouse."

"Safehouse?" Jak'Talva cocked a brow in a very human manner. Some expressions were apparently universal.

"Where I would report to my ONI superiors," Leah replied. "If I can get in, I can get the means to free your ship from being impounded. And with that done, we can get off of this planet and put as much space between us and ONI." The thought of leaving behind everything she knew did not bother her as much as she thought it would. She had never really had a home, after all. As a Spartan, she had been moved from place-to-place, with no one location being a true 'home' to her in the conventional sense. She had gone from battlefield to battlefield, ship to ship, none of those places becoming 'home' to her in all her years as a Spartan. To take a ship and leave it all behind would be little different to previous engagements, and in a way would make for a more liberating one.

"If I can get the means to free your ship," Leah said, as she levelled her gaze towards Jak'Talva, "Can you get us off Thrace? Get us away from here, safely, without being caught?"

Jak'Talva practically smiled at this question, bearing his pointy white teeth in what Leah took to be the Skirmisher version of a prideful grin.

"I haven't survived this long in my line of work without knowing how to fly my way out of trouble," he said.

* * *

Leah would return to Deckar's Stand in the early morning. She knew how the safehouse worked, and she knew how to get in. It would be lightly guarded, populated by a mere handful of ONI personnel, nothing she would not be able to handle. She intended to go on this mission alone, whilst Jak'Talva and Accord remained here and waited for her return. This seemed to be the plan of approach that had been settled on, until she finally sat down on the sleeping mat in one corner of the back room. Accord walked in a that point.

"I want to go with you," he said.

Leah looked up at him, surprised to hear this. He stood out like a sore thumb, to use a tired expression, even with a hood over his head to disguise his distinctly alien appearance. There were aliens in Deckar's Stand, Kig-Yar mostly, so a bulky Forerunner standing nearly eight feet in height was likely to be noticed. Still, the look in those eyes of his was one of sheer certainty, and Leah found herself seriously considering the suggestion.

"You want to come with me? Tomorrow morning?" She asked him.

"Yes." He knelt down on the floor in front of her, as to become level with her. "I want to help you in any way I can, as you have helped me."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I saw what you did earlier today, the decision you made." Accord's voice carried a genuine level of conviction. He was speaking truthfully, and Leah was surprised by just how serious he sounded. There was no superior attitude here. The Forerunner had adapted quickly to his new situation, and had taken to working with his former enemies in stride. "You chose to protect me over everything else. You turned against your superiors to save me. It is only reasonable that I help you in any way I can. That means joining you tomorrow morning. If this safehouse is as you say it is, then it is likely that your former superiors would have reinforced it."

"Maybe…"

"Do you want to take any chances? You may be an enhanced warrior, but you are not invincible. If we are to survive the coming days, we need to improve our odds in any way we can." Accord paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the air for effect. He did have a point, and Leah did find herself agreeing with him.

"The decision I made earlier today I made because it was the right thing to do," Leah said. "It doesn't mean you're indebted to me. I don't need you indebted to me and tagging along. I've worked alone most of my life…"

"And helping you is the right thing to do," Accord said. "Surely you can see things the way I do? You are the one who found me, and it seems fate has ensured that we remain together. For as long as that is, I will help you wherever I can and these people, this 'Office of Naval Intelligence', is an enemy we can overcome. I am sure of it." He certainly sounded confident. Leah found it endearing, made even more so by his apparent naivety.

"ONI isn't your typical enemy," Leah explained. "They're not an army, even if they've got whole armies at their disposal. They don't show themselves unless they're certain of victory, and they have people everywhere who spy for them and report back to them any moves their enemies make. We just made an enemy of them, and they will hunt us down no matter what it takes and no matter how many of them we have to kill." She let her own personal views of the organisation seep into her words, as the true nature of their enemy became all the more apparent. "This isn't a war, Accord. We're criminals now, and our only chance of escape is to get far beyond ONI's reach. That's why we need to get off of Thrace."

"And I will help you."

Leah could see that there would be no talking him out of it. If he wanted to help, then he very well could, and she would have to take the risk of bringing him along. It could work, even with Accord's blatantly alien nature. He would be just one more unusual character in a city filled with them. Even with this in mind, Leah's more Spartan nature cast the whole planned exercise under a significant shroud of doubt. It was not just ONI they had to watch out for, as Carson's people would pursue them if their true identities were revealed. After what had happened that evening at the restaurant, it seemed likely that even Carson would be aware of the troublemakers in his midst.

"Like I said, there's no need…"

"There is every need," Accord interrupted. "You made sacrifices for me when I needed your help the most. Even I can swallow my pride and admit when I am out of my depth. Before I woke up, I might never have even considered helping a human. But now, after what has happened?" He nodded his head. "I will gladly fight by your side, and I will gladly accept your aid. You have already done so much for me, it would be inconsiderate to not return the favour."

"That's very noble of you." Leah could see that Accord meant it, even if she herself was not able to completely buy into it. She would have preferred it if the Forerunner she had sacrificed so much to protect would stay put and remain out of harm's way. Still, she knew what it was like, being a warrior like he was. If their positions were reversed, she knew full well she would not stay put, no matter what the other said.

"It's what I have to do," Accord replied. "You are in your predicament because of me. I intend to help you through it in any way I can."

Leah nodded her head. He could come along, and she would certainly appreciate the help. For now, though, she needed to rest, and feeling that the conversation had run its course she shifted onto the sleeping mat and laid down. She rested her head upon a bundle of blankets that served as a pillow. As she did this, she realised that Accord was still looking at her. She turned her head, their eyes meeting.

"You've made your point, Accord," Leah said. "You don't need to hang around. I'm going to get some sleep, and I think you might want to do the same." She paused for a moment, before adding, "You do sleep, right?"

"I have to, certainly." Accord sounded almost regretful. "My armour, when it was fully operational, could keep me sustained almost indefinitely, and I could go days without needing to sleep. Now…" He trailed off, and glanced down at the rugged assortment of Forerunner armour plates and human-made clothing he wore. "I feel almost naked without it."

"I know how you feel." Leah wondered what had become of her MJOLNIR armour, which had been stored on the _Light and Shadow_. It had probably been vaporised, or even fallen into the hands of the Covenant. What she would not have given to have it with her now, for it would certainly make her feel a lot more secure. Without it, she almost felt naked, much the same way Accord did without his advanced Forerunner armour. They were truly on their own, with none of the equipment that they were used to having with them in similarly life-threatening situations.

"I think you should get some rest," Leah added. "Even if you've had about one-hundred thousand year's worth already." She would have smiled, had Accord done so. Instead, he gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement, before he stood up and left the room. The Spartan was now alone in the dusty old backroom, a gentle desert breeze whistling in under the metal door nearby. She half-expected some desert creepy crawly to plop down on her from the ceiling, but nothing of the sort happened. Nonetheless, she kept her pistol loaded and by her side, ready to reach for it at a moment's notice. She would be taking no chances, even if they were in the middle of nowhere.

Despite her weariness, sleep did not come right away. She had to lie down for a while, her gaze directed at the ceiling, her mind mulling over all that had happened during the day. It was all these thoughts, and all that they implied, that made it near impossible for her to naturally fall asleep. In the end, sleep did come, but it took its time. When she did doze off, she was treated to some very vivid and unsettling dreams of battles fought in the past and friends she had seen die before her very eyes.


	19. Military Intelligence

**Military Intelligence**

The battle had not gained them much ground. The Covenant remained entrenched in the mining town, holding on to what little territory they had claimed with a tenacity that surprised even Colonel Carson. After the shelling and the first attacks by infantry, Carson had pulled his forces back upon seeing that the Covenant defenders were fighting them off and causing the casualties to mount. He had been confident that this token presence of Covenant intruders could be dealt with, but he had underestimated the enemy numbers. For now, they would stay back and bide their time, and keep watch upon the movements of the Covenant forces. They seemed focused on whatever was inside that town and the excavation site, giving Carson reason to believe that they did not intend on attacking the civilian population centres. Not only that, but the arrival of the Covenant cruiser had put a crimp in things significantly.

The hulking purple ship hung in the air over the mining town, casting its shadow over much of the plateau. It had been there all night, hovering in place, a gravity lift emanating from a point on its underbelly into the town itself. That thing had guns pointed in every direction, and attacking it directly with what Carson's people currently had at their disposal would have been suicide. He had pulled everyone back, and that included the camp they had constructed, ensuring that a line of sentries was in place before the rest of the ground forces fell back to more defensible points along the desert, out of reach of the cruiser's cannons. As for Carson himself, he took a ride back to Deckar's Stand, accompanied by a chunk of his own staff as they went on back to the estate that served as both the centre of government and home for the Colonel and his closest associates. With them they transported a handful of Covenant prisoners who had been taken during the battle, as well as the more seriously wounded of their own who would be sent to the local hospital. As for the prisoners, they would be taken to the local jail for now, prior to be properly processed for a thorough interrogation and, most likely, their execution. Carson did not wish to waste resources on keeping alien prisoners fed.

His mind was still very much set on the message that had been intercepted by his communications people. An ONI communique, bounced across their slipspace buoys using a specific type of powerful transmitter, likely using whatever ship they had hidden in the system to serve as an amplifier. Of course, if the reports he had heard were true, then a UNSC ship had recently fallen victim to the Covenant cruiser, which certainly simplified matters for him. Tackling the Covenant was one thing, but taking on ONI at the same time would likely prove to be a headache.

However, he could not leave one threat to simmer, and as soon as his car came to a halt in the rear grounds of the estate he was out and on his way to the small subsidiary building where the resident communications experts worked. The building had a hardline to the satellite dish relays on the edge of town, which provided the bulk of Thrace's communications capacity. That, and the handful of satellites in orbit, which Carson was sure at this point had been hacked and utilised by ONI agents for their own ends.

As he walked, he pulled a cigar from one pocket that he promptly jabbed in his mouth and used his silver ODST lighter to ignite. Taking some lengthy drags upon it, he entered the small brick building in a quiet corner of the estate's grounds, feeling a rush of cold air as he entered. The air conditioning was on at full bore, which made sense given the sheer amount of computers inside that needed to be kept cool through whatever means possible. The interior consisted mostly of light blues and cool beiges, with soft carpet underfoot and an atmosphere tinged with the slight smell of air freshener. An almost luxury place, compared to the tent Carson had spent the last twenty-four hours working inside.

Down a short corridor was the main computer room, where a row of terminals occupied by technicians were located. A holographic map of the planet floated in the centre, suspended several inches over its projector, each satellite in orbit marked in red as the planet itself spun slowly on its axis. As Carson walked in, some of the technicians moved to salute him, but the Colonel simply shook his head and motioned to them to stay put and continue their work. Randall, the chief communications officer, approached him then.

"Colonel," he said, "How are things with the Covenant?"

"They could be better," Carson replied. He held up the paper with the intercepted message printed across it. "You forwarded this to me earlier. You say you intercepted it?"

"We followed on from your suggestion to delve deeper into less used frequencies," Randall replied. He walked over to one of the computers, and Carson followed him. The Colonel knew full well that a battle was often only as good as its plan, and acquiring as much intelligence as possible was a requirement if one intended to defeat their enemies. Then again, a famous military leader had once said that no battle plan survived contact with the enemy, so one always had to keep up a delicate balance.

"We were lucky to intercept that communique," Randall continued. "We've been trying to hone in on its source, but so far we've had no luck."

"We need to search for a very particular type of location," Carson said. He put the paper down and peered at the screen. "Specifically, places equipped with more powerful transmitters. ONI are very good at disguising technology as something more mundane, when operating in secret. Do we have a database of all buildings with the town that are fitted with satellite receivers?" Something of that sort would have been standard-issue on the likes of Earth and the Inner Colonies, but out here, where most settlers had to spend their funds much more frugally, such normal luxury items were less common. Everyone on Earth could watch television stations from any part of the world, but here on Thrace only a small percentage of people would have even bothered with putting such a thing on their property.

"I can run a quick search," Randall replied. He took a seat before the computer and began tapping away at the keyboard, inputting the required commands. It took only moments for the Colonel's request to be properly processed. "I'll bring it up on the main hologram." Behind them, the projector switched from its three-dimensional representation of the planet to a map of the town and the surrounding region. Carson turned around to watch as a number of locations flashed up in red, perhaps making up one-third of the buildings within Deckar's Stand. Most were concentrated in the downtown areas, the more populous and economically better-off sections. However, there were a few on the outskirts in places where the poorer citizens lived, and the small alien immigrant population. Carson had never been fond of the Kig-Yar minority who lived on Thrace and had been planning on ousting the lot of them in the near future, but for now he had other priorities.

"Get rid of those we know are too weak for interplanetary communication," Carson said. "As well as that, get rid of any that are not directly tied into the Thracian communications network." ONI would not be foolhardy enough to use any local network, although they may very well have piggy-backed their signals upon it. Randall inputted the commands and a large chunk of the red properties disappeared, making the small handful of those that remained stand out all the more on the mostly blue holographic map. Carson peered at them carefully, his mind going through the possibilities as he considered the areas marked before him.

"Do we have any Kig-Yar citizens with such technology registered to them?" Carson asked. His eyes had gone to one place in the 'Bird Town' district that had stayed red. Randall, meanwhile, rapidly tapped the keys at his monitor as he sifted through the records they had on file.

"None on record, Colonel," he said.

"Of course not." It was possible that they had a human with such technology living in Bird Town. "This property here. Could you bring up our records on it?" He pointed at the one that stood out in an otherwise large sea of blue. Randall looked over, saw what he meant, and immediately began inputting the property address into the computer. As the records appeared, Carson moved over behind Randall, his eyes skimming through the information on display.

"It's a three-storey townhouse," Randall said. "It was registered to a 'Hans Olgull', who purchased it five months ago in a private sale. He got it very cheap, too."

Carson frowned as he heard this. It seemed too convenient, somehow.

"Bring up our records on Hans Olgull," the Colonel requested. "He would have to have been a registered citizen to make a purchase like that."

Randall nodded his head in acknowledgement of the instructions and typed in the appropriate commands. A record did appear, showing a photo of a middle-aged man with short grey hair. The information attached to the photo was slim, which was not unusual for the records on Thrace, but there was something about it that seemed off to the Colonel.

"There's not much there, sir," Randall said. "It says he moved here from Sigma Octanus VI, retiring from the re-colonisation effort there. Former UNSC freighter pilot, little else on his record."

"There's little else on his record because Hans Olgull is long dead," Carson said, the realisation having occurred to him mere seconds previously. "He's been that way for years. Got gunned down on Sigma Octanus VI by a bunch of pirate types who tried raiding his cargo. I would know this because I used to hire the man to haul goods off of Thrace." The Colonel shook his head. "ONI is either arrogant or stupid. In all honesty, I believe it is a mix of both. We've found our ONI hideout here in our midst." He felt almost pleased with himself. ONI had likely not counted on him, or anyone else on Thrace for that matter, even attempting to intercept their messages, and in turn getting enough of a hint to do enough digging to uncover their scam.

"What should we do, sir?" Randall turned his head to look at the Colonel with one brow raised, inquisitive.

"I think that's obvious, Randall." Carson might have cracked a smile then, had he been in a better mood. "We have unwelcome guests in our city, and I think it's about time they were shown to the exit."

* * *

Mornings in Deckar's Stand were a hustle and bustle of activity. At this early hour, many of the street vendors were opening their stalls and those with legitimate jobs were making their daily commutes. Given the relatively small size of the town, most commuted by car or by walking, and it was not uncommon for one to live mere blocks away from their place of employment. With the sun rising and the temperature going up with it, Leah found herself walking into a town she had traversed many times in the past few months, although she had often made it a point to stay out of the more populated areas. Even in her rugged civilian clothing, reminiscent of what one might expect a freighter pilot to wear, she felt that she stuck out, even amongst the more unusual elements of the population. Her tall and muscular Spartan frame did not help her case much, and occasionally she did get second glances from passers-by, not that they proceeded to any further interaction with her.

Her usual stand-out appearance was made all the more so by the even larger figure following behind her, his head disguised under layers of cloth wraps and a set of visor-like goggles that were not uncommon on Thrace for those who wished to travel the desert, as such protection helped to keep the sand from getting in the eyes. Sandstorms in the region were not uncommon, and one had swept through the night before while Leah had been dozing, leaving many of the streets in town covered with a significant layer of sand. People were out and about sweeping up what they could, keeping their doorways clear.

Leah moved on through a particularly narrow street in one of the outskirts districts, on the edge of the aptly named 'Bird Town' area where the ONI safehouse was located. Accord followed her closely, moving carefully through the growing crowds, weaving through people as if it were an art-form. Most moved clear of the strangely large figure, and those few who stared at him as he went past muttered amongst themselves, and some seemed visibly uncomfortable. Not that it mattered, not at this point. The safehouse was not far now, and if ONI had known they were coming they would have likely been intercepted already. It was possible, and Leah was certainly hoping, that the ONI contingent here on Thrace had been thrown into turmoil following the loss of the _Light and Shadow_. They had no leader to report to, save for perhaps Spartan Eric, and they had no real means to get communications off-world without utilising the sort of high-powered ground-based communications equipment that would get them noticed by Carson's people. Protocol dictated that in the event of a loss with their superiors in the region, the ONI operatives on Thrace would go to ground and remain there for a period whilst awaiting the reestablishment of contact. That period could be months, but it was sometimes necessary, and the operatives at the safehouse could very well be in the process of packing up their things and going off to live among the locals for a while. This thought hurried Leah along, with Accord keeping pace with her. They had to get to the safehouse, and they had to do it before ONI cleaned out their computers.

The pair rounded a corner, entering another narrow back alley where a bunch of Kig-Yar had set up some stalls and were busy preparing what Leah assumed was typical Kig-Yar cuisine. This seemed to consist of a lot of raw meat, none of which looked particularly appetising. The bird-like aliens here spoke to each other in their native tongue, squawking and screeching like a flock of agitated seagulls whilst Leah and Accord moved between them. None of them seemed interested in the unusual pair, and they remained focused on their food preparation.

Further down the lane was the rear entrance to the safehouse. It was unchanged from when Leah had last been here, with a metal gate leading into a narrow lane that ran along the rear of the building. The gate itself was locked, not that Leah had any problem with it, as she still had her key for it. With the lock away, she pushed the gate open and entered the narrow paved lane. Numerous grass planters were along here, providing some greenery to the otherwise brown and grey tones of the street. Most of the plants were long overgrown, their tendrils snaking into the brickwork of the old building and exacerbating the cracks that already existed within it.

Leah motioned to Accord to follow her. He did so, his eyes darting about as he scanned the surrounding area. They were in potentially hostile territory now, and the Warrior-Servant had become appropriately alert.

The rear door was locked. The lock here was of the keypad variety, and thankfully her code was still valid. This was either an oversight on ONI's part, or they had already packed up and left. The latter possibility would bring her and Accord to a dead-end, so all she could do now was hope for the best.

There was no one waiting behind the door, and she moved into the corridor beyond with her gun in her hand and Accord close behind. As soon as he was in she closed the door, shutting out the noise of the town before the pair moved deeper into the mostly quiet and partially rundown building. The walls here were in dire need of a coat of paint, and the inside itself certainly needed renovating. Leah did not waste any time in heading for the main operations room, and she passed the armoury along the way which she noticed was still partially stocked. This was a good sign, as were the noises she was picking up from the operations room. People were at work in there, which would certainly complicate matters, but it at least told her that ONI was still in operation here.

Slowly, she crept her way to the doorway of the operations room. Two operatives were here, both ones she recognized, and they were currently engrossed in their respective computer terminals. She slowly moved up behind the nearest one, who was seated at the bank of computers dedicated to communications, before she grabbed him from behind and put him in a powerful headlock. It was a move she had done many times, and once again she did it perfectly, squeezing the man hard enough in such a way that he fell unconscious within moments, able to let out only a subdued grunt before succumbing. As for his friend, he rose from his seat and turned around, only for Accord to meet him directly. The Forerunner backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling over the desk before he hit the floor with a _thump_ and fell still. Leah eased her target gently back into his chair, before narrowing her eyes at Accord who had done his task with somewhat more force than she would have preferred.

As soon as both men were unconscious, she made her way over to the main computer terminal at the other side of the room. Accord kept an eye on the doorway in case anyone else came by, while Leah went to work on the computer. It was the terminal operative Rickard would have used, had he been around, and she found that his absence was strangely conspicuous.

"Check the armoury," Leah said, glancing back at Accord. "You might see something you like."

Accord did just that, and as Leah sifted through the computer's files he came back with several rifles bundled into his arms that he unceremoniously deposited upon the table behind her.

"Your weapons are very crude," Accord stated.

"They work just fine," Leah countered. She kept her attention on the computer, as she utilised her still valid credentials to get into the network that ONI had set up on Thrace. It connected directly into the vast network they had bouncing off of slipspace buoys scattered across the frontier, but only sometimes, as the _Light and Shadow_ would have served as the needed amplifier for any communications from Thrace to even reach the network. For Leah, she had to make do with what was localised to the planet, which was all she needed.

ONI had indeed impounded Jak'Talva's freighter, which was now under lock and key at a private space-port on the other side of town. ONI was likely using hired help to keep watch on the place, rather than risk using any locals who may very well be part of Carson's militia. As was usually the case with impounds, the ship's core systems had been locked out, accessible with only certain codes that authorised personnel would have access to. Leah looked about the desk for a means of getting the information she needed down, and amongst the various odds and ends she found a small data-stick that, from what she recalled, was one of several the operatives here used for file transfer and storage. She took it from the desk and plugged it into the computer, and with this done she was able to promptly copy the codes onto it, all of which took mere seconds to achieve. With the data-stick, she would be able to put the codes directly into the computer on Jak'Talva's freighter. The only problem now was getting to it without getting killed. She may have been a Spartan, but even she knew she was far from invincible. She was also currently low on ammunition.

"I have what we need," she said. She unplugged the data-stick and turned to Accord. "We should go."

As she said this, there was a loud _crash_ from downstairs. Immediately she had her gun at the ready, as did Accord, and footsteps could be heard as several people in heavy boots came rushing into the building. It was not something she had been expecting, and she wondered if ONI had somehow caught wind of their presence here. They could have detected the computer use and the information she had acquired, but to send a team here so quickly? It was very unlikely.

Accord took up one of the rifles, a burst-fire model in a factory-issue variant that lacked a scope or even a rail to mount one. From the stairwell down the hall appeared a pair of men in desert combat gear, the unmistakable sight of two of Carson's soldiers. Both had submachine guns, and they stormed into the building with purpose. Somehow Carson had discovered ONI's presence here, and it seemed unlikely that they would have known about Leah and Accord. No, rather what had just happened was that both Leah and Accord were in the wrong place at the wrong time, occupying the building right when Carson's men launched their raid. In all, it was a further stroke of bad luck, and Leah might have thought that a higher power was messing with her had she had a religious side. Spartans were realists, and realistically she and Accord were in some serious trouble.

Leah did not hesitate to open fire. She put several pistol shots downrange, each one a loud _crack_ within the confines of the safehouse. The dust that had settled in the eaves and on the tables was disturbed by the sheer force of the shots, some of it fluttering down as she stood and opened fire. The first of the soldiers fell down in the hallway, blood spurting down his chest. The other backed off into a doorway, and he was immediately followed by two more of his compatriots who came storming up the stairs.

A window to the right shattered, and someone appeared on the balcony outside. Another one of the soldiers, and he let fly with his submachine gun, a heavier model that thumped rather than cracked, and the table in front of Leah was torn asunder, splinters of wood flying all about. Leah dived to the floor as bullets hit the carpet near her, kicking up bits of fluff.

Accord worked his rifle with all the finesse of a veteran soldier, despite never having used such a model before, and he crammed home a full magazine before turning it on the balcony. The rifle thundered and a three-round burst caught the soldier in the gut, propelling him off of the edge of the balcony before he fell onto the street below. By this point some of the people outside were running and screaming, an understandable reaction given the sudden chaos.

Leah was not in a good position. The table in front of her hardly amounted to effective cover, and the pair of them were quickly becoming outnumbered. The only way off of this floor was down the stairwell the soldiers were rushing up, otherwise one could always jump out of a window onto the street below. Her options here were limited, and it would be relatively easy for Carson's soldiers to simply surround them and trap them with the numbers they had.

Leah remained prone as she opened fire at one of the soldiers coming up the stairs. She put about three rounds into his legs, causing him to yelp, before he fell over. She did not hesitate to plant one more round through his skull as he hit the floor, but even with this one down he was followed by another pair of his friends.

Accord swivelled about to face the foes charging down the corridor. His rifle thundered, again and again, ripping holes through the flaking walls. One of the soldiers pulled a grenade from his waist, leaning around a doorway to throw it. Accord put a burst of rifle bullets into him as he went to lob the grenade, and instead the grenade itself fell down with him, rolling partially down the corridor before it detonated. The noise of the explosion was deafening within the building, and the walls at either side of the explosion were torn open in a rush of fire and smoke and dust. Leah crawled for the smashed window that lead onto the balcony, passing by Accord who had since crouched by the corner leading into the hallway. Dust rolled on down from the grenade explosion, and shouts could be heard as the raiding soldiers called out to each other.

"Accord, we'll have to take the window." Leah gestured to the Forerunner to follow, as she rose back onto her feet. The narrow lane below was a fair drop down, but it was nothing a Spartan would not be able to handle. Or a Forerunner, for that matter, as somehow she got the impression that Accord was a lot stronger than even her.

As she neared the window, she became aware of movement in the building across the lane. It was a similar structure to the one she was in, and only a short distance away given how the buildings were packed so closely together. At the windows directly across from her, she sighted a pair of figures who were aiming guns her way. More of Carson's soldiers, covering the building while their friends came crashing through the front door.

Both soldiers opened fire, the rifle shots echoing down the lane. Leah ducked as part of the window-frame exploded, raining glass and wooden splinters upon her. Accord was a short distance behind her, and one of the rifle rounds struck him in the chest, causing him to stumble briefly from the force of the impact. For a second there, Leah feared the worst, until she saw that the Forerunner chest-piece he wore had deflected the bullet, with the round itself having left a slight nick on the somewhat dirty armour plate. Accord crouched down, turning to face the hallway as one of the soldiers came around the corner. The Forerunner gunned him down then and there, sending a trio of rifle rounds into his chest that knocked him back against a nearby table and sent his body sprawling over it, knocking aside the computer monitor that had been resting upon it.

Leah turned to Accord. From her pocket, she retrieved the data-stick containing the impound codes for Jak'Talva's freighter.

"Accord." She caught the Forerunner's attention as she held the data-stick towards him. "Take this. You're going to get out that window and I'm going to cover you."

Accord seemed confused for a moment, until the realisation as to what she was planning hit him.

"I won't leave you behind," he said. He certainly sounded determined, and Leah found that she admired this. "I agreed to help you in any way…"

"And you will, by getting out of here while I watch your back." Leah had only the loosest of plans in mind. At the very least, she wanted Accord out of here. She was not going to let the very reason she was here die. "I'll have to hold them off. So take the codes and get out."

Accord took several seconds to decide. Finally, he reached over and took the data-stick.

"You can survive a two-storey fall, right?" Leah nodded in the direction of the balcony behind her.

"Yes." Accord stated this like the fact it was, and did not see any reason to elaborate.

"I'll take out the shooters across the street. While I do that, you jump for it and start running. Don't look back."

She could hear footsteps coming up the hall. It seemed that Carson had sent about half of his army here, which made things all the more urgent for the Spartan and the Forerunner. They had no time to dawdle, and that meant Accord had to quit worrying about her and get moving himself. She was surprised that he seemed so concerned for her, since they had known each other for about a day which hardly seemed enough time for even the most basic of friendships to form, but nonetheless the feeling it gave her was a good one. It would have been better, if they were not getting shot at right now.

"Go when I tell you," Leah ordered. "Get out that window. I'll keep you covered."

Accord nodded. He stuffed the data-stick into a pocket in the jacket he wore over his armour and prepared to make a run for it. Leah stood up, taking aim through the window at the shooters across the street, and she opened fire, working the trigger on her pistol fast enough that the weapon sounded like it was fully automatic. One of the shooters went down, tumbling through the window in front of him as it shattered from the impact of the rounds, before he plummeted to the street below. The other backed off out of sight, taking cover. He did so at a good time, as the hammer on Leah's pistol clicked onto an empty chamber and the Spartan began to rapidly reload.

"Go on," she shouted at Accord, spurring him to move. "Get out of here! Now!" She turned around to face the corridor, as more of Carson's men started charging into the room. Accord did as he was told, rushing for the window before he vaulted through it and onto the balcony. From there, he vaulted over the metal railing and sent himself falling to the street below. Leah caught a glance as he landed in the narrow side-lane below, doing a somersault to absorb some of the impact of the fall, before he was back on his feet and running again. He moved swiftly, his powerful legs carrying him quickly through the lane and out onto the narrow side-street through the gate.

Leah turned to face the approaching soldiers. She gunned down the first two that entered the room, before the others halted in the corridor. One of them primed a grenade, a cylindrical looking one at that, which was in turn thrown into the room. It bounced once, before rolling the rest of the way, coming to a stop mere metres from where she was standing.

Leah saw that it was a stun grenade of some design, but even she could not react fast enough to avoid its detonation. Everything around her was enveloped in a brilliant white flash and a deafening roar filled her ears, before she suddenly found herself falling, set upon by several soldiers who proceeded to beat her into the floor with the stocks of their guns. Even for a Spartan, the onslaught was hard to endure, and Leah's increasingly shaky state of consciousness only worsened as it continued, before finally she was left dazed.


	20. Chase

**Chase**

To a complete newcomer, the streets of Deckar's Stand could be a daunting place to explore. All narrow lanes and winding alleys beyond the few busy main roads, with buildings packed closely together, the whole place was unlike most other colonies. It was not only the closely-packed buildings and the confusing network of side-streets, dead-ends and alleys, it was also the crowds. A whole mishmash of humans hailing from all parts of Earth and UNSC space in general, Deckar's Stand had become a melting pot of different people, though all were under the governance of Colonel Carson. That was perhaps the one constant on Thrace now, and it was one people were wary of, if not outright supported depending on their history with the way Carson had run the colony.

To a Forerunner who had been in stasis for over one-hundred thousand years, Deckar's Stand was the last place he should have been. He had no idea where he was going or how he should act while walking the streets. He had no help, for Leah had stayed back to ensure his escape. He was truly on his own now, and for the first time in one-hundred-and-something thousand years, Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience was afraid. The last Forerunner, a stranger in a land so beyond his years it was alien to him, and he was without the armour that had sustained him during his previous life, before he had fallen into stasis. He had no ancilla for guidance, and he had none of the technology he had come to rely on for much of his life. Accord was not just on his own, but he really only had his wits and what useful human devices he could find to rely on. Even the human guns had proven their worth, mainly the rifle he had in his arms as he rushed down the side alley that ran past the ONI safehouse.

As he rushed down its length, he heard further shots from the building he had left behind, promptly followed by the loud _crack_ of an explosion. After that, no other guns fired, and the street fell silent. So far it had been mostly cleared of civilians, as those who had been lurking about had fled when the trouble had started. This gave Accord some breathing room, as he ducked into a nearby alcove that housed a door and turned his gaze back towards the safehouse. He had not wanted to leave Leah behind, especially since she was so far the only human he felt he could trust, but the woman had insisted and he had seen no other alternative. Now, he intended on going back to assist her, which would no doubt annoy her but it was, to him, the right thing to do.

As he watched, he saw a group of the soldiers come out, hauling between them the unconscious form of Leah. They took her down the other end of the alley, dragging her along with her arms held in their own, legs scraping across the pavement. The soldiers were unaware of Accord's presence, and the Forerunner used this to his advantage as he moved out of the alcove and took aim with the human rifle. He fired a burst, the weapon shaking slightly in his powerful grip. One of the soldiers behind those moving Leah fell, crumpling into a heap on the floor of the alley. His friends were immediately on the alert, two of them hauling Leah away to a truck parked outside the end of the alley. The others, about half a dozen of them, shifted their attention in Accord's direction. The Forerunner did not hesitate to lay down further fire, gunning down yet another of the soldiers whilst the others scattered.

The gunshots echoed loudly down the length of the alley. Part of the wall near one of the other soldiers was chipped away by the powerful rounds. Accord shifted his aim slightly as he moved confidently down the middle of the alley, aware that so far he had these hostiles on the backfoot. The element of surprise would be fleeting, but he would be certain to make the most of it.

With his aim shifted, he fired again, the rifle barking as the three round burst chewed up the partially exposed foot of a soldier taking cover in a doorway. His foot exploded into a mess of blood and bone, and the man it belonged to came hopping out of cover, yelling in pain before Accord planted a further three rounds into the side of his head. Much of the head itself exploded, splattering blood and brain matter onto the wall near him before the rest of his body hit the ground.

Accord adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger, expecting to send a burst into one of the other soldiers. However, the weapon was empty, and he realised that he had not taken any extra magazines with him from the safehouse. He was unarmed, and he watched with some dismay as the truck the soldiers had bundled Leah into began to speed away. It was gone from view within seconds, hitting the main road outside the lane and heading off, leaving Accord in the dust as to where it might have been going. Seeing this happen created a sinking feeling in his stomach, coupled with a growing sense of frustration. He had just lost his one and only means of finding his way in this bizarre society, and he had just left himself unarmed when faced with several heavily armed hostiles. It was a bad situation, and the one thing that came to mind right then and there was one he did not normally consider.

He turned around and he started to run. His Forerunner strength and speed gave a significant edge over his human foes, but even that may not be enough to help him when he was such an obvious target. Accord knew he stood out in a crowd, so he would have little hope of losing his pursuers simply by blending in with strangers. He would have to outrun them, and the first step to that was to put as much distance between them and himself as quickly as possible. He raced down the alleyway with the soldiers starting after him. A few even fired shots his way, but these flew wide, the result of running and shooting at the same time.

The alleyway hit a dead-end up ahead, but there was a sharp left corner a short distance before this that Accord took without pause. This put him down a somewhat dustier section of the alley, which was mostly devoid of life save for one elderly human man in ragged clothing who was sitting by a dumpster, drinking from an unlabelled bottle. He looked up at Accord as he ran by, watching the oddly tall and muscular figure go past, only to be followed by several armed soldiers moments later.

Accord knocked aside a few garbage bins, throwing them down into the middle of the alley behind him. Ahead, the alley opened onto a main street of sorts, and he could see civilians milling by. He would have an easier time of slowing down his pursuers amongst such a crowd, even if he himself stood out more so than most. Barging out of the alley, he stepped out into the harsh Thracian sun, as the temperature gradually began to rise as the morning progressed. He knocked aside a few civilians, getting some profanities spoken his way as he did so, but otherwise he ignored them and kept moving. Cars passed by on the narrow two-lane road, and across the street he could see a market of sorts, one he recognized from his journey here with Leah. It seemed a good idea to stick with what he knew, and this he did if only in passing, and he started crossing the road.

As unaccustomed as he was to the etiquette with such things, as soon as he stepped into the road he heard the screeching of tires as a large white van came to an abrupt halt, or at least attempted to as the dusty old vehicle's brakes worked harder than they ever had to before. Accord copped some of the impact as the front of the van clipped him, sending him stumbling onto the asphalt underfoot, all the while the soldiers behind him rushed out of the alley and began shoving their way through the crowd.

The driver of the van was furiously honking his horn, seeing that Accord was back on his feet in seconds and, much to the driver's relief, seemingly unharmed. Accord resumed running, causing another oncoming car to skid to a halt while the driver of that one started to work the horn equally as furiously as the van driver had been. There was nothing like this in the ecumene, and Accord could only wonder how humans lived in such an environment, constantly having to avoid oncoming vehicles just to get from point A to point B. It was not an efficient system, and it certainly was not a safe one.

Entering the market across the street, Accord found himself under fabric shelters and amongst a crowd of humans of all ages and creeds. The noise around him was a cacophony of voices and things being moved around and cars driving by. The intensity of it caught him by surprise, as not even the most populated Forerunner planets he had visited had been this noisy. Coupled with the ubiquitous dust that seemed to cover everything, and the sheer amount of smells that were accosting his nostrils on top of the noise that assaulted his ears, Accord found himself slowing despite his situation. He moved around a corner, going by several market stalls that were being crowded around by interested humans as the vendors hawked what goods they had on offer. Accord shuffled past all this and went on through a doorway in a stone structure up ahead, entering some kind of back area of the market that was thankfully a bit lighter populated.

He had to take a breath and regain his bearings. The crowds had threatened to overwhelm him, and he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The physical exertion was only partially the cause for this, as not even he, a warrior from a young age, was trained to cope with the kind of situation he had found himself in. Not once would any Forerunner have thought that they may end up one-hundred thousand years beyond their own time, long after their civilisation had gone. And the thought that the great Forerunner civilisation had disappeared should have been unfathomable, even to Accord. Yet here he was, on a planet that had once housed a small Forerunner population, now overtaken by humans and their more barbaric ways and he was all alone here, lost and confused, surrounded by things he did not understand. It both angered him and frightened him, and the confliction only added to his current state.

The back-room he was in seemed to run the length of an old stone-brick building. He was alone back here, and numerous wooden cages were piled up along the walls on both sides of him. The smell in here was a foul one, and all manner of bird feathers were floating around, as well as being littered all over the floor. A look into one of the nearer cages revealed some kind of white bird he had never seen before, small and plump looking, its head crested by a red rubbery extension of muscle. It clucked to itself, and Accord realised that he was surrounded by cages filled with these bizarre creatures. Stumbling past them, he moved into an alcove between two sets of cages and stayed there, concealing himself in the shadows. His gaze went back the way he had come, and he watched as two of the soldiers walked by the doorway, slowly searching their surrounds, their eyes scanning about them.

Here, he tried to regain his senses and recollect himself. He could not afford to have some kind of breakdown now, and he fell back on everything he had learned to try and regather his thoughts. One had to remain calm, no matter the situation, and it was when one let their feelings get the better of them that things would often fall apart. Accord would have had his armour on any other occasion, and that would have pumped him full of calming agents upon it detecting his elevated heart rate, blood pressure and brain activity. Here, he was without such luxuries, and he simply had to rely on his wits and little else. It was unlike nothing he had ever experienced before, and he realised then that he had taken his former luxuries for-granted, and that now, after they were long gone, did he actually realise just how helpful they had been. He needed help, and he needed to find Leah. Somehow, he doubted he would be able to do this on his own.

He went to move, but his large frame brushed against one of the cages near him, knocking it off of its perch. The whole thing came crashing down, almost deafening in the relative silence that had preceded the noise, and the front of it fell open. The white bird inside squawked in horror and came fluttering out of the cage, sending small white feathers flying all around. The noise even caught Accord off-guard for a moment, before he turned his head back the way he had come and saw two of his pursuers come bolting down the hallway. They were bearing on him fast, and Accord stumbled past the rows of bird cages before rushing down the opposite end of the room.

He rounded a corner and followed a narrow concrete corridor down the length of the block, all the while the soldiers behind him stormed in his wake, pushing aside the odd civilian whilst shouting at him to stop. Neither of them took the chance of shooting, likely because they wanted him alive, and because they did not wish to hit any civilians by accident. Accord was faster, and he was out the end of the older building within moments, coming out onto a fairly empty lane that ran between two large buildings. The main street was further down to his left, while the lane went on for a longer distance to his right. Without much thought to the matter, he turned and started rushing down the right-hand lane. There was a chance he could lose his pursuers in the maze of lanes and buildings, all the while he was likely to get lost himself. All he knew was that he had to get out of town, but not before he learned where Leah had been taken. And then he would need to plan ahead from there, not that he had any real idea what he would do.

The lane took him into the middle of some kind of apartment complex that was about five floors high. He was in the middle on the ground floor, a courtyard of sorts with the apartments rising up around him, with stairs going up from floor to floor. A chubby middle-aged human man was standing by the railing a few floors up, puffing on a cigarette. He looked down at Accord with some slight curiosity, blowing away on his gradually fading cigarette as he did so. Accord started for the stairs, climbing them rapidly, making his way up to the top floor whilst the footsteps of his pursuers came echoing down the lane.

As he hit the top floor, the middle-aged man turned and walked away with a noticeably brisk pace to his step, as if he had some idea of what was going on. Either that, or Accord looked like someone he did not wish to have anything to do with. As it stood, Accord had come to a halt, peering down the railing as the two soldiers who had been behind him appeared on the ground floor, looking about them in order to try and spot out the Forerunner. Accord ducked behind the metal railing, keeping himself just out of their sight. He could still just see them through the narrow gaps in the barrier, but from their lower and much steeper angle, they would be hard-pressed to see him. One of the soldiers started up the stairs, going up a floor where he stopped and took a further look around, before he said something to his friend and went back down.

Accord was holding his breath and he did not even realise it until after the two soldiers left the area. They had seemingly given up, and the Forerunner exhaled slowly. He rose to his feet, aware that the whole place had fallen strangely quiet. As he turned around, trying to think of some better way of getting out of town, he became aware of footsteps approaching. He turned his head, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a rifle. It was pointed at his head, and the man wielding it was outfitted in a soldier's uniform, albeit one with the markings of an officer. He was a middle-aged human, with a thick grey moustache. Height-wise, he was fairly shorter than Accord, as were the two other soldiers who had accompanied him.

Suddenly, both of the soldiers were grabbing Accord's arms. The Forerunner hardly had a chance to react as one of them reached up and tore his cloth wrappings aside, revealing his distinctly non-human face to the trio. There was a pause as the three Thracian soldiers saw the Forerunner's face for the first time, and it was the officer who spoke first.

"What the hell are you meant to be?" He asked.

Accord did not reply. Feeling exposed, he lashed out at the two soldiers at his sides, knocking one of them aside with ease. This one flew several feet before hitting the wall nearby, hard enough to send him onto the floor unconscious. The other he grabbed by the neck and lifted, and without thinking too hard about it, pushed him over the edge of the railing. The five floor drop was enough to kill the soldier, and it was over fairly quickly, as the fall itself lasted mere seconds and the soldier had barely enough time to make any kind of scream. What did escape his throat in those seconds was an odd yelp that was abruptly cut short as his head connected with the concrete below and his skull cracked open upon the hard surface. And then Accord turned to the officer, who had started to back away as he realised that the apparent ONI operative he had come to capture was something else entirely.

"Stay back!" The officer's voice was tinged with fear. Accord did the exact opposite, and he stormed towards the shaken officer before swatting aside the weapon he carried. The rifle went flying out of his grip, clattering onto the floor nearby before he grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him up off his feet with one hand. His Forerunner strength was significantly greater than that of a typical human, and Accord was able to pin the officer against the nearest wall, eyes blazing into his own.

"Where is she?" Accord demanded. His confidence had returned quickly after his brief episode earlier, although this was likely down to the rush of adrenaline he had just received.

"What? Who?" The officer struggled to speak through Accord's vice-like grip. His feet dangled about a foot off of the floor, and he kicked them about fruitlessly while one of his hands swatted against Accord's armoured chest in an effort to break free. It did not work.

"The woman. The one your people captured." Accord leaned forwards, putting the two of them almost face-to-face. "Where is she? Where has she been taken?"

The officer seemed reluctant to reply, so Accord shifted his grip from the man's collar to his neck directly. The pressure was enough to make the officer's free-hand swat against him even harder, and Accord relented a little to allow the man some room to breathe.

"She's…" The officer gasped for air. "She's been taken…to the prison…"

"What prison?"

"The jail. The colonial administration jail…"

Accord let go of the man, allowing him to drop to the floor. He rubbed at his neck, gradually regaining his breath as the Forerunner glanced about himself, making sure there were no further enemies closing in on him. He then looked back down at the officer, thinking over whether he should spare the man or not. Indeed, he felt like killing him, if only to vent his growing frustrations, but something stopped him from doing so. Instead, he started walking, leaving the officer to his own devices as he started down a hallway nearby that lead into the apartment complex. What he had to do now was get out of town, which in itself should be a simple matter of heading for the desert. All he had to do was keep a low profile, and with this in mind he began to re-apply the partially torn cloth-wrappings that had covered much of his head and face. Not an uncommon bit of fashion for a desert region, and a necessary one for Accord who intended to keep his true nature a secret from as many as possible.

He would not leave Leah to rot in some cell, and the thought of her being tortured sparked both anger and dismay within him. He had to do something to help her, yet he was a stranger here. He would have difficulty finding the prison, even if he had directions to go by. He needed the help of someone who knew this place and knew it well, and he felt that the person he had in mind fit the bill perfectly.

* * *

ONI had more than one safehouse on Thrace, and not all were located within Deckar's Stand. Some distance to the north of the main settlement, off of the beaten path, was an old weather monitoring station that had, like so many other places on Thrace, fallen into abandonment and disrepair. It was situated on a tall hill not far from a desert mountain range that ran the width of the continent, separating the populated and charted southern regions from those further up north that remained barren and unsettled. Only the local wildlife lived that far up north, and with this in mind the weather monitoring station made for a useful temporary base of operations. The building itself was a somewhat worn looking boxy rectangle one, with a large set of satellite dishes and scanners arranged at its rear within a fenced-off area. A series of shelters outside served as parking for the vehicles belonging to those who now inhabited the station, and a number of tents had been set up outside to provide accommodations for those who could not be fit inside the station itself. A Pelican dropship was also here, located under a set of desert camouflage netting that would keep it from being easily spotted by satellites from above.

Within the old station, the place had been rearranged with new offices and working spaces. One room served as Commander Laura Boone's new quarters, a fairly empty living arrangement with a bed and a dresser but little else in the way of personal touches. Laura herself was up and getting dressed, ensuring her uniform was tidy as she regarded herself in the mirror. Her mood was a mixed one, as she had had a fairly terrible day yesterday before getting a good night's sleep with the aid of a certain Spartan-III, who had just finished changing into his uniform a short distance behind her.

"You know, you certainly know how to improve my mood," Boone commented. She did not like being out here, until recently she had even made it a point to stay off of Thrace itself and send her subordinates down here to carry out Operation Distant Thunder. Still, being down here in the ass-end of nowhere was somewhat tolerable with the likes of Eric around. She had spent the last few years working with the Spartan, and she liked to think that the two of them had a very unique and fulfilling working relationship.

"It's the least I could do, Commander." Eric straightened up his collar before he walked up behind her, towering over her by a full head in height. "You know me. I always follow orders."

"And you follow them well." Boone turned around, and their eyes met for a moment. Neither of them really made a move, before Eric started for the door. Had she asked for anything from him, he would have given it to her straight away, without question. It was an odd feeling, to have an essential super-soldier at her beck and call, but it was one she was certain would never get old.

"I should get to my duties, Commander," Eric said. The uniform he wore, grey and unmarked as it was, did not suit him too well. Boone guessed she was simply used to seeing him in his armour when he was up and around.

"Of course, Lieutenant." She watched him leave the room, before she returned her gaze to the mirror on the wall in front of her. It had been in the room when she had moved in, left over by the people who had once worked here and lived here, monitoring the continent's weather for whatever scientific pursuit they had had in mind. It had likely been interminably dull, and Boone knew she would never have the patience for that kind of thing. She had always wanted to be part of something much more important, and ONI had given her that kind of opportunity. Bringing these independent planets in line was something she could really sink her teeth into, and she might have even enjoyed herself more had things not gone so wrong the day before. Losing the _Light and Shadow_ would be a black mark on her record, no matter how she phrased it in her report.

An entire frigate had been destroyed under her watch, and the higher-ups in ONI were unlikely to let her forget it. So she remained on Thrace, intent at reclaiming the Forerunner, a means of consolation for the loss of the frigate. It was just a shame that the Spartan-II she had come to rely on to get work done these last few months had suddenly turned on them. Spartans were meant to be obedient killing machines, and Eric had proved himself as much on more than one occasion. Yet Leah had gone and run off with the Forerunner, as if the veteran Spartan had suddenly grown a conscience. It was a sorry state of affairs, and it was one Boone intended to rectify as soon as possible.

She tied up her hair into a manageable and slim ponytail before she turned and left the room. The weather station was fairly small, and she did not have to walk far to find herself in the main command centre. A number of computers had been set up here, and ONI operatives and technicians worked at each. Boone was approached by one of the lead operatives, a man by the name of Gregor, who had been among the core personnel from the _Light and Shadow_ who had escaped the doomed vessel with her. He was somewhat older than she was, a veteran ONI operative who had taken part in numerous black operations over the last twenty years or so. Somewhat chubby, with greying hair and an unrefined stubble, Gregor, like most of the operatives here, went by the one name only. It simplified matters, and it made it harder for any one of them to rat out their compatriots if they were ever captured and tortured for information.

"Commander Boone," Gregor said, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. "I was just going to go find you."

"What's the matter?" Boone could tell from the look on the man's face that something had come up, something that may have been potentially important.

"Reports we've intercepted going between the insurrectionists," Gregor said. He went over to one of the nearby terminals and turned the screen around to face her. "Communications going to Colonel Carson's base of operations. Specifically, mention of Spartan Leah."

This caught Boone's attention. Any word on the rogue Spartan would improve her mood, even if by only a little. The sooner they reined in Leah, the better things would be. Boone was still waiting on word back from her superiors about what to do with Leah, but in the meantime she acted in the way she considered best: put every resource to the task of tracking down her, and the Forerunner. Taking the Forerunner alive was a priority; as for Leah, they could kill her or take her alive, it would not make much difference in the end. A rogue Spartan-II was a dangerous thing to have on the loose, especially one who knew ONI's ins-and-outs like Leah did.

"They've captured her, during a raid on our safehouse in Deckar's Stand," Gregor explained. "We know where they're taking her."

Now this was good news. Boone kept a straight face as she looked at the computer screen, and at the information compiled upon it. Transcripts and written messages between Carson's people, with mention of the Spartan (albeit they did not refer to Leah as such, but their descriptions of her certainly made it clear as to whom they were referring to).

"The old colonial administration jail in Deckar's Stand," Gregor continued. "It serves as the main stopping point for prisoners taken by Carson's soldiers. After that, they're usually moved to more secure and more hidden locations, if they aren't simply executed." He sounded concerned, as the implications here were clear. If they did not act quickly, they could lose Leah for good, and they could not afford to have her in Carson's hands for any prolonged period. Spartan or not, she simply knew too much to be kept in the custody of an insurrectionist.

"Is that all you've managed to find out?" Boone asked.

"So far, Commander." Gregor raised one eyebrow slightly. "I'd say it's enough for us to make a move."

"We know where she is, so we can certainly do just that." Boone already had a plan forming in her head. If they got Leah back, they may have a lead through her to find the Forerunner, which would certainly simplify matters. Boone herself wanted to punish the Spartan personally, for her actions against ONI and, by extension, the UNSC. There would be something oddly satisfying in enacting the proper punishment on such an esteemed soldier, especially one who had had the gall to turn against ONI. Had Leah seriously believed she could take them all on? She may have been a Spartan, but she was far from invincible.


	21. Custody

**Custody**

The jail and former police headquarters of the Frontier Colonial Authority was located towards the centre of Deckar's Stand, not far from the town hall. It was a mostly square building, constructed from concrete blocks and prefabricated metal frames, one of the earlier structures put together in the colony that was not pre-planned prior to settlement. The police headquarters had been built in the earliest days of Deckar's Stand, when the town itself had finally started to expand beyond its humble beginnings. And, as one would expect, the Authority had claimed what had been intended as a fairly ordinary municipal building and turned it into something a bit more elaborate. Where the estate had been the centre of government, the police headquarters had served as the centre for law and order. Under Carson's reign, the building served a similar purpose, but had had several more cells added into it to support a larger criminal population.

Carson's attitudes towards criminals was a straightforward one. Those who committed the serious crimes of murder, rape, arson and so forth were usually executed by firing squad, lined up against a wall in the courtyard of the jail and shot to death. Lesser crimes resulted in people locked up in the dingy cells within the building where they were often subjected to beatings and other forms of torture and humiliation, before being let back out on the streets, usually with damaged minds on top of their damaged bodies. These harsh penalties kept crime on the streets of Deckar's Stand at manageable levels, and violent criminals were often dealt with on the spot regardless.

Today, the hulking police headquarters building was seeing some more activity than usual. A handful of new prisoners were brought in and assigned to cells within the building's basement levels. Covenant prisoners mostly, and Leah herself was brought into the dingy concrete building through a rear entrance, so not only was she passed through the courtyard but she got to see some of these Covenant prisoners first-hand. Two Kig-Yar soldiers had been herded up against a wall on the stone-paved courtyard, and a human man in a brown and grey officer's uniform promptly shot both of these aliens in the back of the head, splattering purple blood and brain matter across an already blood-stained wall before them. He did it without even batting an eye, the general attitude towards aliens apparent within the walls of the jail.

Leah had both her hands chained behind her, with manacles wrapped around her ankles as well. The guards seemed to be well aware as to what kind of person she was, and as such she had four of them escorting her along, two at either side while another two walked behind her, weapons pointed at her back. She had already tried busting her chains, but they were strong, much more so than she had been expecting. Carson's soldiers were not taking any chances with her, much to their credit.

The journey to the jail had been uneventful. Leah had come to in the back of an armoured vehicle, finding herself already bound. The stun grenade and the beating that had followed had been enough to knock her out for a few minutes, and this had been more than enough for the soldiers to secure her. There was little more she could do, as much as it pained her to admit, and she found herself being dragged along through the courtyard and into the cell-block itself. It ran underneath much of the imposing concrete building, and the smell down here was a mix of sewerage and general human misery. Not only human, she saw, as she passed a cell occupied by a trio of Grunts and another housing an unhappy looking Kig-Yar who rattled the bars on the door with his clawed hands, a fruitless endeavour and one that only gave the guards more of an excuse to beat him. Further down, into the increasingly wet and dingy confines, were some human prisoners. Miserable and dirty, some were seated, others napping on their bunks, while a few hollered at her and the soldiers as they went on by.

The air down here was cold, and the sounds of dripping water could be heard echoing down the halls, old pipes leaking from the ceilings and walls. Leah was stopped in front of an empty cell, one that was located on the left of one occupied by a beaten looking Sangheili in a partial set of armour and a desert-coloured duster that he wore over it. He sat quietly on his bunk, his emerald green eyes going over to Leah as she was herded into the cell. Between the two cells was a brick wall, with a gap towards the ceiling that had several metal bars set down its length.

The guards shoved her into the cell before they promptly closed the door behind her, locking it before she could so much as turn to face them. They were quick about it, efficient even, taking no chances where the Spartan was concerned. With this done, the four soldiers turned and left, visibly relaxed now that the potentially dangerous prisoner was secure. Now all Leah had to do was wait, as she was sure Colonel Carson himself would make an appearance. He would be told about her capture, and about her Spartan nature, and he would no doubt want to interrogate her himself.

That left Leah with little else to do but bide her time. She could only hope that Accord had got away, and so far this seemed to be the case, as he was yet to be brought into the prison. Either that, or he could be dead, a thought that she did not dwell on for too long. She had not come this far just to have the reason she turned against ONI get unceremoniously killed. Still, she had her doubts, as the Forerunner would be on his own, and being someone over one-hundred thousand years out of his time, it seemed likely he would not have a clue as to how to handle himself in human society.

"You are not like the others." A guttural, masculine voice sounded from nearby. Leah looked to her left, and realised that it was the Sangheili in the cell next door who had spoken. "You are something else. I can see that much."

"What am I, then?" Leah stepped onto the metal bunk at the wall near her, putting herself high enough to peer through the gap near the ceiling and into the next cell. The Sangheili was seated on his own bunk below, his head down. She noticed that dark purple stains marred his armour and duster, and it seemed likely that the Sangheili had been seriously injured. Judging from the slightly strained edge he carried in his voice, it was apparent that he was yet to receive actual medical attention for his wounds.

"A demon." The Sangheili stated as much in a blunt tone. He did not sound too worried about her being a 'demon', not like some of the other Sangheili Leah had run into in the past. Some were positively terrified of her, seeing her and other Spartans as unnatural, unholy warriors. This Sangheili, on the other hand, spoke it like the simple fact it was. "Why would the humans imprison one of their most powerful warriors?"

"Because not all humans are on the same side," Leah replied. Saying this, the Sangheili turned his head and looked up at her. His eyes seemed weary, resigned even, as if he had simply given up on the world. It was probably the kind of look anyone would develop when spending time in a prison cell.

"I gathered as much." The Sangheili rose to his feet, somewhat shakily. He turned around to face the gap fully, their eyes meeting. "It still begs the question, why a demon would be brought here, to be imprisoned."

"It's complicated."

"It always is."

"Are you with the Covenant?" Leah asked this more on impulse than for any genuine desire to know. Still, she had to make sure where she stood with this Sangheili, and whether or not he was a potential foe.

"The Covenant?" The Sangheili slowly shook his long, saurian head. "No. Not since the war ended. I have fought what remains of them since, and that is what brought me here, to this world."

"So, you're with the Arbiter?"

The Sangheili let out a huff when she said the name.

"Not exactly." He paused for a moment, giving it some thought. "My name is Davam 'Ktham. I came here to seek revenge against one who had wronged me. Instead, I have been locked up here, and by chance I have a human demon occupying the cell next to my own."

"I'm Leah." She might have shaken hands with the Sangheili, had she been able to reach down enough to do so. "You don't strike me as the typical Sangheili. Most of your people aren't fond of us Spartans."

"Why would they be?" Davam sounded tired, and this came across in his overall demeanour. "You killed many of us during the war. I suppose it is only reasonable, given how many humans my people slaughtered in the name of the Prophets and their lies." His tone developed a more incisive edge then, but the moment was fleeting, and it faded almost as quickly as it had come. "I have other worries now, Spartan Leah."

"Like revenge?" Leah could only wonder just who this Sangheili wanted vengeance against.

"Indeed."

"Is that all?"

Davam shifted where he stood, looking down for a moment as if somewhat more painful memories struck him then. He walked over to the front of his cell and looked out into the corridor, quiet as it was, only for that quietness to be broken by the sound of a prisoner yelling from some distant cell. Leah could not make out all of what was being said, but much of it was not friendly.

"I had another with me." Davam spoke slowly, as if he was not sure whether he should be telling her this or not. "I brought him along thinking I could make him a proper warrior, and instead I took him to his death." He turned away from the front of his cell, and with a sudden movement that Leah had difficulty keeping track of, he clenched his right hand into a fist and punched the wall in front of him. She heard the dull _thump_ from her side of it, and the Sangheili took a step back, cradling his right hand for a moment. Blood was on his knuckles, and she wondered if he had broken any bones. Unlikely, given just how durable Sangheili bones were. Whatever was on his mind, it was provoking a typically Sangheili reaction.

"Perhaps fate has brought us together," Davam said. He looked up at her through the gap, his eyes lighting up slightly. "Or perhaps we are both doomed to suffer here, for however many days we have left to live."

"You're full of positivity, aren't you?" Leah narrowed her eyes as she said this. The Sangheili did not seem to notice her sarcasm, and instead sat back down on his bunk. He appeared withdrawn, and she could see that the death of the other one he had brought to Thrace was weighing heavily upon him. She could only assume that they had been a close friend, or perhaps even a relative.

"You humans are too quick to be optimistic," Davam said, as he sat back down. "There is a difference, between being optimistic and realistic. Too many times you lie to yourselves, you tell yourselves that things will be better, that all will turn out in your favour, yet more often than not it is the direct opposite. We Sangheili take a more measured approach, and we know better than to lie to ourselves about the nature of our situation. As for me, I am locked up in a filthy human dungeon and so far I have been threatened with torture and execution."

"You have no rights here," Leah stated. This was true enough, as Sangheili would not have any sort of protection under the law on a non-UNSC human world. Ever since the war had ended, there had been certain laws drawn up to protect any alien species who travelled into the UNSC, but as for Thrace, the people here could essentially do what they wanted to the likes of Davam. "I have a friend I was helping, and I made it my mission to protect him. I can only hope he got away, since I haven't seen him around here."

"Perhaps he is dead?"

"The thought did cross my mind." Leah leaned slightly against the wall. Her head still ached slightly from having a stun grenade go off in her face. Davam certainly spoke his mind, a trait that was fairly refreshing after having worked with numerous ONI operatives in recent weeks. "But I think he's still out there. Probably lost and confused, but I think he's alive. Call it a feeling." She paused for a moment, realising the oddness of her situation. It was not often she had thought that she would ever have a routine conversation with a Sangheili; then again, she had never considered turning against ONI before the last twenty-four hours. Now, just about every aspect of her life had turned upside-down, and having a pleasant conversation with an imprisoned Sangheili was perhaps the most normal thing that had happened to her since she had made her decision to help Accord.

"I need to get out of here," she said.

Davam looked up at her. He did not appear impressed, and he simply lay down on the bunk, as if he were readying to go to sleep.

"There is no escape from here," he said simply. "The only escape I have seen thus far, Spartan Leah, is that of death. And if that enables me to see my son again, then it is a fate I can be content with." Saying this, he closed his eyes, and began to doze. Leah looked down at him through the gap, surprised at the Sangheili's sheer resignation to his circumstances. She had always thought that his kind were more determined than that, and if he had indeed lost a child then surely that would only drive him harder?

Leaving him to rest, Leah stepped off of the bunk and sat down upon it. From a quick look about the cell, there appeared to be no readily noticeable means of escape. No window, barred or otherwise, and the cell door was firmly secured with both an old-fashioned keyhole lock and a keypad. The people who had built this jail had ensured to have the best of both worlds in place for that extra layer of security. Why have one lock, when you could have two?

For now, it seemed Leah could only wait for an opportunity. She could only hope that opportunity came sooner, rather than later.

* * *

It took some doing, but Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience did finally find his way out of Deckar's Stand and back to the old, abandoned garage that had served as the group's safe haven for the last twelve hours or so. He had commandeered a rickety old land vehicle, one he had found parked near some kind of warehouse on the edge of town while a pair of human workers had been unloading boxes from its rear. While they had done that, Accord had climbed into the driver's seat, acquainting himself with the layout of the controls all the while he thought back to when Leah had been driving the Warthog the day before. It was a fairly straightforward set up, even if he did forget to disengage the handbrake before hitting the accelerator. The way the van had jerked forwards got the attention of the two human workers, but by that point Accord had rectified his mistake and sent the vehicle racing forwards, all the while his hands worked the steering wheel frantically as he made sure to avoid civilians on the streets and any other obstacles that might have been in his path.

His memory was better than most humans, and he was able to find his way back to the garage fairly easily. It became easier once he was out of town, as there were only a few main roads going across the desert, and picking the right one had been simple enough from what he could remember of his trip into town. No one pursued him now, and he was able to get back to the hideout after a fairly uneventful drive. When he finally returned, he parked the van around the back and climbed out. From there, he jumped the fence into the yard at the rear and barged in through the back door, only to be immediately greeted by Jak'Talva. The Skirmisher was unarmed, and he seemed surprised to see the Forerunner alone, as his gaze went to the empty space behind Accord and a bemused look crossed his avian features.

"Where's Leah?" He asked.

Accord slammed the door shut behind him. Dirtied as he was, his chest armour dented in a few places, he narrowed his eyes towards the Skirmisher. He did not think too highly of this bird-like alien, regardless of how helpful Leah might have seen him to be.

"She's been captured," Accord said. The pair stood in the dusty backroom, illuminated under what little sunlight streamed in through the mostly boarded-up windows near the ceiling over the door. "The local government forces attacked the safehouse."

"Carson's people?" Jak'Talva raised his brow. "How curious. They must have caught on to ONI's presence in the town…" He trailed off, as a thought occurred to him. "Did you get the codes?"

"Yes." Accord spoke slowly, as he realised what the Skirmisher was getting at. He shot the bird a harsh glare and stepped forwards, towering over the alien by a significant height and width. "But we are not going anywhere, other than to save Leah. It is my duty to do so."

"I never said we would abandon her," Jak'Talva said. He spoke quickly, his tone becoming somewhat defensive. "I mean, I would never even consider it. Nope, not at all. We're all in this together." He was lying now, almost blatantly so, and Accord resisted the urge to flat-out punch him. Instead, he put one large six-fingered hand to the Skirmisher's shoulder, ensuring that his grip was tight but not hard enough to be outright threatening.

"You're going to help me find her," Accord said. He made sure to speak as if it were a foregone conclusion, so that there would be little room for the Skirmisher to protest. "You know this planet well, do you not?"

"I know it like the feathers on my arms," Jak'Talva replied. He sounded a little anxious, as if having the Forerunner towering over him might have been taking something away from his usually confident demeanour.

Accord might have smiled then, had he thought the gesture was necessary. Still, he certainly took some satisfaction in the way the Skirmisher squirmed under his grip.

"I will need help to find my way in the town. And I will need your assistance to help me find the colonial administration jail complex. Do you know the place?"

Jak'Talva nodded his head.

"Yes, yes I do. It's hard to miss."

"Very good. You will also help me to acquire the weapons and equipment I need to liberate Leah from that very location. That is something you can do, is it not?"

Again, Jak'Talva nodded his head. He did not seem so keen on protesting now, when he had the big Warrior-Servant right in front of him with a hand to one shoulder and an intense look in his pale blue eyes.

"And you will also help me in the liberation itself," Accord continued. "I may be a Forerunner Warrior-Servant, but even I know when I may be outmatched. Would you be willing to provide your services in the liberation itself?"

Jak'Talva, once again, nodded in agreement.

"Yes, yes, certainly."

"Very good. Take whatever you need from here, for we depart as soon as possible." Accord took his hand away from the Skirmisher's shoulder, satisfied that he had 'convinced' the alien to help him. Jak'Talva turned and left the room slowly, as if stunned that he had so easily agreed to everything. He came back a minute later with the metal crate full of MREs, and he gave a light shrug of the shoulders as he noticed Accord's curious look at it.

"A Kig-Yar's got to eat," Jak'Talva said. He went to the door, and pushed it open with one hand. "As for your weapons and equipment, big guy, I know where we can find what we need, and it's right in town. I can't promise much, but someone like you seems resourceful. You'll probably be able to do a lot with a little."

"I am glad that you have so readily agreed to help me," Accord said. He followed Jak'Talva outside into the heat of the desert. The Skirmisher glanced back at him with what could only be considered a mixed expression, as if he knew he had been intimidated but was too prideful to admit it out loud, or even to himself for that matter. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jak'Talva stopped at the rear fence. Here, he put the box of MREs upon one shoulder before he grabbed onto the fence with his free-hand and began to hoist himself up and over it.

"Arms smugglers would get the death penalty within the Forerunner ecumene," Accord stated.

"Really? Because they usually get the death penalty here too." Jak'Talva scaled the fence quickly, his Skirmisher agility on display, enough so that even Accord was slightly impressed. "It's just that Colonel Carson and I had an arrangement. It might even still stand, but I haven't checked in with him for a while and it's likely he'd have me killed for getting myself caught. Wouldn't want anything dirty to be traced back to him." Landing on the other side of the fence, Jak'Talva looked about for the Warthog and instead found himself looking at the old and rickety van that Accord had brought here.

"That's the best you could do?" He gestured to the van. "For a Forerunner, you certainly lack taste in transportation."

Accord made his way over the fence, walking around to a section he had pushed down earlier which he easily stepped through before joining the Skirmisher on the other side.

"I was in a hurry," Accord finally replied.

"A hurry?" Jak'Talva started for the van. "I guess it will have to do." There was a brief silence between the two, as they walked over to the van. Jak'Talva pulled open one of the rear doors and threw his crate of MREs inside. "You know, if I was not mistaken, I would say that you and Leah have a little thing going."

This suggestion caught Accord off-guard, if only for a moment. Jak'Talva turned to look back at him, offering the Forerunner a toothy smile.

"I mean, the way you seem so determined to rescue her. You two only just met, right?"

"She helped me when I needed it. It is only right I return the favour."

"That's very noble of you," Jak'Talva commented, even if he did not sound entirely convinced. "Still, some might interpret it as something more. I mean, do you Forerunners…" He trailed off, before his eyes flitted down to Accord's crotch before going back up to his face. "Do you…you know?"

"You know what?" Accord was not entirely sure what the alien was referring to, given just how vague he had suddenly become.

"You know." He gave a light thrusting motion with his hips. A sure-fire indication of what he was talking about. Accord suddenly understood perfectly, and with one hand he shoved the Skirmisher into the back of the van. Ignoring his protesting squawk, the Forerunner slammed the rear doors shut on him and made his way around to the driver's position.

He could hardly believe the way things had gone. He intended on returning his debt to Leah, and yet here he was having to put up with unusually crude behaviour from an irritating bird-like alien. The sooner he was off of this planet, the better it would likely be for his mental state of mind.


	22. Third Party Intervention

**Third Party Intervention**

Colonel Carson's day continued to become more and more interesting. Not only had they successfully located and destroyed an ONI base of operations within Deckar's Stand, but apparently there was a whole other layer to what was going on that Carson himself had not even considered. He was in the operations room of the communications building near the estate, and here he was going through the findings that had been reported back by the raiding team, specifically those who had not been killed by the two individuals who had been found within the ONI safehouse. One of them had since been captured and taken to the jail, something that Carson intended to act on soon enough, but right now he found himself taken by what he was hearing of the other, the much larger and semi-armoured gunman who had been in the ONI safehouse and who had lead several of his soldiers on a lengthy chase through the streets.

It was all the more intriguing, then, that one of his officers had seen this man face-to-face. And from what this officer reported, the one they had chased through the streets had not been a typical 'man'. No, it had been something else, something that even Carson had trouble wrapping his head around. The whole situation had spiralled into something that was on the verge of slipping out of control, since the mysterious alien who had lead several of his soldiers on a chase had somehow escaped town.

He stood near where Randall was seated, and watched as the communications technician sifted through the surveillance camera footage they had collated from locations that the mysterious alien had been sighted in. As a result, they were able to get a proper look at the alien, rather than simply rely upon eyewitness testimony that may or may not have been completely reliable. Most of the time the alien had his face concealed, under layers of cloth wrappings and a set of visor-like goggles, fashion one might find on those who worked out in the desert. As such, his seemingly bizarre choice of outfit did not turn too many heads. Rather, it was his sheer size that did, as he towered over just about every human being he went past and was considerably bulkier than any in terms of sheer frame. The description that the officer had provided, of the alien's face, gave the impression of something that was close to human, but still very different. The pale, blune-tinged skin and the slits instead of an actual nose would certainly indicate as much.

"What is it, Colonel?" Randall asked him, referring to the mysterious alien as they sifted through the surveillance footage. The alien had been in a hurry, pursued as it had been, before it had vanished into some distant section of town where the surveillance coverage had become spotty at best.

Carson considered the technician's question for a moment, and as he did so he pulled a cigar from a pocket on the front of his uniform and promptly stuck the end in his mouth.

"He's an alien," Carson said simply. "He's just not like all the other stinking aliens that come here." He took his lighter from another pocket and used it to ignite the tip of his cigar. With that done, he took one long puff upon it, drawing in the smoke as deeply as it could go, all the while he watched the surveillance footage of the alien making his way through a crowded market. He certainly stuck out from the crowd, shoving his way through before disappearing into a building.

"Let's think it all over," Carson added. "The Covenant come here looking for something, in an excavation site that those archaeologist types started up themselves. And then we get this guy, roaming around the streets and causing a scene." He continued to stare at the alien on the surveillance feed. "I don't think this is a coincidence. There's something more here, a connection. I can feel it." His mind sorted through the possibilities, trying to tie together what little they knew of their mysterious alien visitor. "Those archaeologist types came to me about six months ago, asking for permission to dig at the old mining town. Forerunner ruins, they said. And they also promised to share anything they found, so I thought that there would be little harm in letting them go ahead with their project. What if they did find something?" He took the cigar from his mouth, exhaling smoke, before he continued. "What if the Covenant woke up whatever was down there? Look at our alien friend here. You can tell, just from the way he moves, that he's lost. He has no idea where he's going. He's anxious, afraid even. And he's strong. He throws our soldiers aside like they're ragdolls. He was with the Spartan when he took off. And that Spartan was at the excavation site as well, not too long ago." Carson could feel the rising sense of anticipation, as he came close to working it out. Somehow, he just knew he was close. "Those archaeologists unearthed something, and it woke up. And now it's on the streets, with a Spartan for a close friend." Carson smiled as he said this. Randall, on the other hand, remained silent. He did not seem readily convinced, not that it mattered. It was Carson's job to think about the major topics, whereas Randall was a signals analyst and computer expert. His job was to follow orders and intercept ONI communications.

"I need to go and speak with the Spartan," Carson said. "She might be able to tell me more. Right now, though, I think what we're dealing with is whatever was down in those Forerunner ruins. We could be looking at a living Forerunner, which would be more than enough of a reason to get hold of him. Even if it's just to stop ONI from getting hold of him. And if I'm right, and we're really looking at a genuine Forerunner, then we might be in trouble if word of his existence gets off-world. Before you know it, we'll have not only ONI and the Covenant knocking on our door, but every other faction with an even passing interest in Forerunner technology. So, the sooner we get hold of him, the easier it will be to keep this all quiet." He tapped the screen with one finger, upon a frozen image of the mysterious alien in the process of crossing a street. "We certainly can't have him running around on the streets, can we?"

* * *

"You know, I thought you Forerunners were a bit more measured when it came to this sort of thing?"

"What do you mean?" Accord stood by the window of a mostly vacant tenant block across the street from the hulking, concrete and boxy-looking police headquarters. Armed guards milled about the front entrance, and more walked the walls of the compound. The whole place was like a small fortress, squat and surrounded by twenty-feet high concrete walls rimmed with barbed wire.

"We can't just charge in there," Jak'Talva said. He was seated at a table a short distance behind Accord, and before him were about three rifles of varying designs and several magazines for each. All the firepower he could acquire on short notice, having retrieved it from one of several hideouts he had setup on Thrace. As for their current location, they had broken in, as the three-floor block of dingy apartments was abandoned from official use and home to a handful of homeless people who had broken in themselves, so another two shady characters breaking in hardly got noticed. The room the pair occupied now was mostly empty, with flaking wallpaper and torn carpet. It was the best vantage point they could get on the prison, and it had so far shown them only part of the opposition they were likely to face if they attempted to break in.

"I do not intend on 'charging in'," Accord replied. He closed the blinds in front of him, shutting out much of the sunlight, casting the room in a dim, subdued glow. He turned to face the Skirmisher, who had so far lived up to their agreement. He had acquired weapons, though hardly enough for Accord's liking, and he had helped Accord to find his way here.

"There's two of us, and about one-hundred heavily armed guards in that prison," Jak'Talva said. "We have three rifles and four grenades between us. Unless you've come up with some kind of master-plan, I personally do not see ourselves succeeding in rescuing the Spartan. I agreed to help you, but I did not agree to die with you." Jak'Talva rose to his feet, his expression one of annoyance. "In fact, I'm already beginning to regret getting involved here."

"You're not leaving."

"Why? Because you'll kill me?" Jak'Talva was unconvinced. Accord took a few steps towards the Skirmisher, which was enough to make him visibly pause. "All right, maybe you will. You'll kill me if I don't help you, but I'll most likely die if I do help you. I have to say, you would not make a good Kig-Yar. Your idea of a 'deal' is a poor one."

"Are all members of your species as capable of grating upon one's nerves as you are?" A valid question, Accord thought. Jak'Talva gave a light shrug of the shoulders in reply.

"Maybe. I like to think I'm an especially fine example of how to get on someone's nerves." He spoke jokingly, even if Accord got the impression that he was also being serious at the same time. It was hard to tell with the Skirmisher, and Accord found it difficult to properly read him to work out what he might have been really thinking. He did not say anything to Jak'Talva to this effect, preferring to keep that little issue from becoming something the Skirmisher may choose to exploit.

"The front is well guarded," Accord said.

"As is the back and the sides," Jak'Talva countered. "Like I told you on the way here, the place is a fortress. It would have to be, since Carson keeps his least favourite people locked up inside."

"It is a prison," Accord stated. "Prisons are to keep people inside, rather than keep them out."

"Oh, no, it's both ways, I think." Jak'Talva cocked one brow at the Forerunner, and Accord felt a pang of irritation at the Skirmisher's generally dismissive attitude. "They have some bad people in there, and they keep the place locked down tight so any friends of these bad people, you know, like _us_ in a way, don't come along and try and break them out."

"Do you have any ideas?" Accord had not had much of a chance to construct a proper plan so far. He could not be entirely certain that Leah was even in there, as she could have been moved during the time between his escape from the safehouse and his coming here. Just another thing that could go terribly wrong for him on this escapade, but he refused to give up on Leah. He had a debt to repay, and he would do it, no matter what it took to do so.

"Aside from leaving?" Jak'Talva flicked his long tongue over his pointed teeth, the gesture of a Skirmisher in deep thought, from what Accord could gather. "No, none come to mind. I've never actually been in there myself, because I'm not stupid enough to get myself arrested. That, and Colonel Carson and I have a mutual arrangement. Helping you break in there is going to destroy the agreement we had, that much is obvious."

"It sounds as if you are more concerned for your own welfare," Accord commented.

"I am concerned about my own welfare because the only person I can truly rely on is myself," Jak'Talva replied. "If I die, then I can't really do anything more, can I? The only reason I have survived as long as I have, in my line of work, is because I watch out for myself. I suppose, as a big noble Forerunner, you must think I'm some kind of awful person?"

"Awful? No. Selfish and irritating? Yes." Accord narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to have second thoughts about dragging Jak'Talva along, as he could not honestly rely on the Skirmisher, could he? Certainly not in a fight, anyway.

"And to think, we used to worship you people," Jak'Talva said. "Not that I ever really fell into that religious nonsense myself."

"Just what combat experience do you have?" Accord had never really thought about this, in regards to Jak'Talva. The Skirmisher was a criminal, by all accounts, but one thing he had not discovered was his proficiency in an actual fight. As for the question, Jak'Talva gave him what he took to be a funny look, as if he had been caught off-guard by the question.

"I went through my training," Jak'Talva said. "Believe it or not, oh noble Forerunner, but I was conscripted. I completed my training, but that was shortly before the war ended. As for combat, I've seen plenty of fighting. I can handle myself, if that's what you are concerned about…"

"I do not want any dead weight," Accord interrupted.

"Dead weight? If you insist on attacking that prison, the both of us are going to end up 'dead weight'."

He may have had a point, as much as Accord did not like to admit it. The prison was under heavy guard, and they were just two against potentially scores of heavily armed soldiers. He may have been a Forerunner, capable of feats beyond what a human could achieve, but he was not invincible. He knew his own vulnerability, he had experienced it first-hand on the human ship and then in the safehouse. A few well-placed bullets would kill him, as it would to anyone else. Still, he would not be leaving Leah to rot in some cell. He simply could not do that, even if he had the means on him to escape this planet. He had never thought he would risk his own life to save a human, but times had changed, and his circumstances had become very, very different compared to what he was used to.

There was a rumble from outside, that of a powerful engine. It was loud enough to get Accord's attention, and he walked back over to the window and parted the blinds enough for him to peer through. Down on the street, a large armoured six-wheeled vehicle had appeared, and it brought itself to a slow, grinding halt outside the front gate of the prison. Accord did not notice any marks or emblems on its mostly black exterior, so he assumed it belonged to the local authorities, more so the people who worked for this 'Colonel Carson' he kept hearing about. As he watched, the driver's side door opened, and a man in the typical grey and brown outfit of one of Carson's soldiers appeared. As he emerged, the guards at the front gate came forward, a few standing back to keep watch on the vehicle while one of them approached the driver.

"What's going on?" Jak'Talva walked up alongside Accord, looking through the window with him. Accord did not need to answer the question, as one look onto the street below made it clear as to what was happening. Some kind of new arrivals, more prisoners most likely, and the guards were going through the motions before letting them in.

"It could be our opportunity," Accord said. Jak'Talva turned his head, giving the Forerunner a doubtful glance.

"I don't see much of an opportunity there," he replied. "I think, the idea you're going for, is when we sneak in on the back of a vehicle. Unfortunately, for that to work, we actually need to be _inside_ the back of the vehicle."

Accord had to resist the urge to hit the Skirmisher, if only to wipe off the insufferable, toothy grin he was giving. Something outside caught his attention, however, and he watched as the driver of the vehicle promptly turned around and started running down the street. This sudden action had the guards shouting, and a pair of them began to give chase, while the others seemed to catch on to the fact that they had been left with an armoured vehicle that was apparently empty of all other life. As the driver disappeared from view, Accord himself realised that something very, very bad was about to happen. Without thinking, he turned and grabbed Jak'Talva, throwing him to the floor, going down with him as the explosives that had been packed into the armoured vehicle detonated.

* * *

Only moments earlier, Colonel Carson had been seated in the back of a black-painted Warthog, being driven on the way to the prison. He was actually somewhat looking forward to his talk with the captured Spartan, as it seemed likely that he may be able to attain at least some of the answers he was after.

The Warthog trundled along the busy main streets, the police headquarters further ahead, standing out as one of the larger buildings in the area, towering over the mostly squat apartment buildings and warehouses that surrounded it. The building itself was a holdover from the previous, UNSC-friendly government, otherwise known as the Frontier Colonial Authority. They had been little more than an extension of the UNSC, puppets at most, doing whatever they were told without question. Carson had swept that old order away and had turned Thrace into a prosperous independent world. With that in mind, he had found plenty of use for some of the previous government's buildings, the police headquarters and jail being among them.

As they turned onto the main road that ran by the police headquarters, Carson's eyes went to the large armoured vehicle parked out the front. It was not any that belonged to his people, this much he knew at a glance. The armoured vehicles they used were of a different model, and were often heavily modified. The one he saw parked before the main gate was a newer model, unmarked and factory-issue. In the seconds it took him to see this and for the red flags in his mind to come up, he ordered the driver to stop. The driver did so, bringing them to a halt by the side of the road. As Carson watched, it suddenly felt as if time had slowed down, the guards at the gate slowly realising that all was not right, all the while Carson himself began to put two-and-two together. And in that handful of seconds, he realised that there was little he himself could do to prevent what was about to happen.

When the armoured vehicle exploded, it did so in a brilliant orange flare of fire and light, the force of the explosion enough to shatter windows for miles. A massive plume of fire and smoke erupted from where the armoured truck had been, and the sheer concussive wave that emanated from the explosion caused every window on the Warthog to shatter. Carson was hit by a shower of glass shards, as was the driver, and the Warthog itself was pushed backwards and flipped onto its side, tossing Carson and the driver about in their seats. The front wall of the police headquarters compound had collapsed, a thick plume of grey dust erupting forth as the whole thing crumbled. The guards at the front had disappeared in the explosion, reduced to smouldering pieces. There was little left of the armoured vehicle, and one flaming wheel came rolling down the street, passing by the overturned Warthog before continuing on its way.

Sirens blared from within the compound. A wave of panic hit the streets, as people emerged from their homes to view the devastation. The bomb itself, or _bombs_ as it was likely far more than one had been used, had taken down the entire front wall of the compound. In its place was left rubble and a sizeable, blackened crater that smouldered under the harsh sun.

Carson climbed out of the flipped Warthog. He was mostly unharmed, save for being shaken up and carrying a few minor cuts from the broken glass. As he turned towards the compound, he watched as another truck appeared, this one black and armoured like the last one. It came to a halt at the far end of the road and several armed, black-clad soldiers emerged. They went rushing into the compound, guns blazing, guards and the like being cut down within seconds. The confusion the bombing had caused was working in their favour, and none seemed aware that Colonel Carson himself watched their entrance from the far end of the street.

Reaching through the smashed windows of the Warthog, Carson picked the communications ear-piece off of the unconscious driver and put it to his own ear. If the UNSC wanted to play dirty and direct, then he would be more than happy to oblige them.

"This is Colonel Carson," he barked into the ear-piece. "I need all available soldiers at the police headquarters immediately. We are under attack by UNSC black ops. Bring every available man and every piece of hardware you can carry." As the order was relayed through to the operations centre at the estate, and then down the line to the soldiers themselves, Carson pulled out his pistol and took one good look at the scene developing before him. These black ops types were encroaching on his territory, and he had no doubt in his mind that they were here for the Spartan. They were likely going for a quick in-and-out operation, but Carson would make sure that they would have a far harder time than that. Instead of waiting for reinforcements, he started towards the haze of smoke left from the explosion, and into the very chaos of the raid itself.

* * *

Accord was still on the floor a few moments after the explosion, and as he rose to his feet he realised that he had thrown himself on top of Jak'Talva. The Skirmisher let out a pained grunt at the sensation of having the large and heavy Forerunner on top of him, so Accord shifted off of him and rose to his feet. Jak'Talva followed suit, a little more slowly, rubbing at his head from where it had connected somewhat harshly with the floor. The window they had been standing near was gone, and the blinds themselves had been knocked partially off of their moorings. Glass shards littered the floor and the smell of smoke and burning metal was thick in the air. Smoke poured in from the street, and Accord waved some of it aside as he took a look at the devastation across the street.

The entire front wall of the police compound had been demolished. The guards at the front had been vaporised, and another armoured truck had appeared, this one depositing several armed and black-clad operators who looked just like the ones ONI had sent after him at Nolte's house. They were rushing into the compound, firing their weapons at unseen targets, moving through the confusion with purpose. And Accord knew then that he had to act now, if he intended on saving Leah.

"Are you able to run?" Accord asked, as he turned to Jak'Talva. The Skirmisher did not appear too pleased, and instead shot a very displeased look at the Forerunner.

"Run? You cannot seriously be considering rushing into _that_?" Jak'Talva gestured to the chaos outside, where a thick haze of smoke and dust hung in the air. Weapons fire echoed from within, as did the shouts of guards and attackers alike. A lone, uniformed figure raced in through the ruined front gate, likely another one of the local soldiers hoping to put an end to the attack in progress.

Accord returned his attention to Jak'Talva, putting a hand to the alien's shoulder. He gripped him tightly, hard enough to let him know that he was not about to take 'no' for an answer.

"Leah is in there, and those people are after her," Accord said. There was no other reason he could think of for the attack. "I am only one man. I need you to watch my back."

"You're crazy…"

"For once in your life, put aside your selfish nature." Accord grabbed a rifle from the nearby table and thrust it into Jak'Talva's hands. "Put yourself to use in a noble cause."

"Noble?" Jak'Talva grumbled audibly. "I think you mean 'suicidal'…"

Before he could finish his reply, Accord grabbed him and took him to the window. They likely did not have long before more soldiers appeared, and for the moment they would have the element of surprise. He did not intend to squander it.

"You will come with me," Accord ordered. "And we will both save Spartan Leah." With that, he pushed the Skirmisher out of the broken window, counting on the alien's agility to save him. Jak'Talva did not have a chance to resist, before he was across the threshold and falling. Accord followed seconds later, landing only a short distance from where Jak'Talva had hit the ground. And, as he had suspected, the Skirmisher had landed on his feet and even rolled a little to help absorb the impact. Accord did much the same, although his Warrior-Servant legs took the fall with only the slightest of strain and discomfort. He did not wait for Jak'Talva to catch up, and instead rushed straight into the smoke and gunfire ahead.


	23. Jailbreak

**Jailbreak**

Leah had been lying on the metal bunk in her cell when the explosion had rocked the entire compound. She had been mulling over her options, few as they were, wondering when Colonel Carson would pay her a visit, or even if ONI would make their appearance in an attempt to claim her. She knew they would, as soon as they found out about her capture. She was too great of a security risk to leave in the hands of Carson and his cronies, and ONI by this point were likely out for blood after her betrayal.

Was it really a betrayal, if she had not agreed with them in the first place? She had simply stuck by her principles, and exercised that 'conscience' that Nolte had told her about. In a way, her actions recently had made her a fairly bad Spartan, as no other Spartan had turned against their superiors so readily. Yet, she had done the right thing, had she not? Saving Accord, the last Forerunner, from experimentation, must have been the right thing to do?

All these doubts, all these questions, and she knew that she was unlikely to get any proper answers. Instead, she found her train of thought abruptly derailed by the thunderous boom of an explosion, with the entire building around her shaking in turn. A trail of dust fell from the ceiling, and upon hearing the noise she sat bolt upright. She would have rushed for the door of her cell to try and take a look into the corridor, but the manacles at her wrists and ankles made such simple movement far more difficult. Instead, she rose to her feet and slowly hobbled over, steadying herself against the wall. She heard movement in the cell next to her, as Davam the Sangheili also rose to his feet. Unlike her, his hands and feet were not bound, presumably because the soldiers here did not see him to be as big a threat as a Spartan, despite being both taller and bulkier. The soldiers here were probably used to dealing with Sangheili. Spartans, on the other hand? They knew better than to take any chances with her.

"What was that?" Davam asked aloud.

"Someone set off a bomb," Leah replied. "And not very far from us, either." An alarm began to wail then, the noise coming out of speakers set into the ceiling in the corridor. A pair of armed guards rushed by, ignoring the two prisoners as they made their way for the exit in order to meet whatever threat had decided to come knocking. Leah tried the door for the umpteenth time, finding it to be locked solid. There was no easy escape here, although the sounds of gunfire that became audible then seemed to indicate that she would not need to escape herself. Someone had come here to do it for her, and she had a good feeling as to who. The distant cracks and thumps of guns of varying types going off, again and again, echoed throughout the compound and the building. There was more than one attacker, she could discern this much, and the noise of the fighting was quickly moving closer.

"We're under attack," Leah said out loud. "And they're probably after me."

"After you?" Davam sounded surprised. "Who are they?"

"My former superiors," Leah replied. She rattled the bars at the front of her cell, but to no avail. Everything here was frustratingly sturdy, even to her Spartan strength. Feeling a sudden surge of anger, she slammed her manacled hands against the door, causing a loud metal _clang_ to ring out. Her heart pounding in her chest, she leaned against the door and emitted a long, drawn out sigh. This was not how she had envisioned things going, but she supposed that this is what she got for acting on her feelings before actually devising a plan. She had turned ONI into an enemy, and that was one enemy that anyone in their right mind should not make. All those years spent following orders without question, carrying out near-suicidal missions and watching her brothers and sisters-in-arms die had changed her. It would change anyone, but Spartans had never meant to change. They were meant to follow orders and kill without question until the day they died, and most had died before reaching Leah's age. Before coming as far as she had, when that stoic, machine-like approach to her work had started to crumble, and her feelings had come to the fore. The desire to live a normal life, for one. Something that was virtually unattainable for her.

Was Accord still alive? She could only hope so. The reason she had done what she had needed to still be alive, if her actions were to have any meaning. If ONI caught her, but Accord was able to go on to live free, then she thought that she might be able to die with some degree of contentment. Granted, she had no desire to die at all, which made her current predicament all the more frustrating. Chained up and locked in a cell, she could hear the sounds of her enemies coming nearer, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could not break her way out of here, no matter how hard she tried. They would come here and find her readily chained up and ready to be taken prisoner again. She had a feeling of what awaited her at the hands of ONI, and none of it was positive. Execution was a likely outcome, if not that than life imprisonment. Her nature as a Spartan might offer her some protection, but it was more likely to doom her to a quick execution while ONI concocted some elaborate cover story about her unfortunate demise while in the line of duty. The truth would be buried by ONI yet again, and she would be buried along with it.

All the more reason for her to get out of here, but how?

* * *

Accord and Jak'Talva entered the police compound in the wake of the ONI raiding team. The outdoor area they stepped into, after the main gate, was mostly devoid of life. Guards lay dead, their bodies scattered around the concrete parking area, smoke wafting from the site of the explosion at the gate. As such, the pair did not encounter any resistance outside, and instead found themselves following the noise of the gunfire as the raiding team pressed deeper into the compound. Ahead was a pair of garage roller doors, one of which was wide open, and appeared to have been the entrance that the raiding team had taken. With rifles held at the ready, both Accord and Jak'Talva walked into the loading bay area, finding themselves in the sight of another recently ended engagement, where about half a dozen soldiers lay dead about the inside of the garage and a set of double doors lay wide open at the end of the large, concrete room. More gunfire echoed down from the corridor ahead, and Accord rushed onwards. If the ONI operatives were in the cellblock, then they would not be far from Leah, and he had to get to her before they did. As for Jak'Talva, he followed a few metres behind, weapon held at the ready, despite the reluctant look on his face.

The mostly grey corridor ahead branched off to the left and right, and Accord did not need to think too hard about which path to take. The gunfire was coming from further down the right, and he simply followed after it with Jak'Talva in tow. The pair of them made their way through a mostly empty stretch, with a few paths branching off on their left that they went by. Signs pointed to the administration areas and police office sections, whereas one marked 'CELLBLOCK' pointed down the corridor. A metal gate manned by a single guard had been up ahead, but the gate itself was wide open and the guard lay dead, sprawled across his desk with several holes shot into him. Accord was satisfied that he was on the right track, made all the more apparent by the several barred cell doors that lined the grungy corridor further ahead. Not only that, but he caught sight of one of the ONI operatives as they moved from around the corner, seemingly searching the area. Accord brought up his rifle and did not hesitate to open fire, planting a burst of rounds into the operative, sending him falling to the concrete floor with blood spurting down his chest.

Rushing ahead, Accord kept his weapon raised, operating automatically as he checked the corner where the operative now lay on the floor. About three of the other operatives were down the corridor here, and they were systematically checking each cell, ignoring the protests and pleads from the other prisoners who were occupying some of the cells. Accord caught the operatives by surprise, mowing them down with a long burst of rifle fire. None had much of a chance to react, and lined up as they were in the narrow corridor, Accord did not need to put too much effort into his aim. He heard some of the prisoners shouting in shock and rattling their cages, but he ignored them, driven by his singular purpose as he surged forwards.

"Leah!" He called her name, hearing his voice echo throughout the cellblock. "Leah!" He passed by a cell occupied by a trio of angry Kig-Yar, one of whom screeched at him as he went by. Jak'Talva stuck his rifle in their direction, causing the three of them to go silent. He turned his attention to the Forerunner further ahead, concern flashing in his yellow eyes.

"Hey, big guy," he said, trying to get Accord's attention. "Don't go rushing so far ahead." His words were lost on Accord, who was doing exactly what he was telling him not to do. Accord rounded another corner, heading into a somewhat browner section of the concrete cellblock. The floor here had some puddles of water upon it, and the corridor itself was occupied by a pair of ONI operatives. One of them caught sight of Accord as he rounded the corner and opened fire, submachine gun rounds clipping the wall near the Forerunner. He backed off a few steps, putting himself at the corner as the operative continued shooting. Bits of concrete were blasted from the wall, dust exploding outwards. Accord remained still, unfazed by the bullets that flew by, as he waited for an opportunity to act. Jak'Talva stopped next to him, watching him with a look that indicated that the Skirmisher saw him as crazy.

"Any bright ideas?" Jak'Talva asked.

Accord did not reply. Instead, he stuck his head around the corner and opened fire, laying down a volley in the direction of the two operatives. One of them went down, stumbling against a nearby wall before smearing a trail of blood upon it. The other began to back off, letting fly with fire from his submachine gun. Accord paused to reload his rifle, slamming the new magazine home in a matter of seconds, his hands moving as if he had done the action hundreds of times before. As a Warrior-Servant, he needed to learn how to operate weapons quickly, and it was a trait that many others like him had shared. These human rifles may not have been as sophisticated as Forerunner light rifles, but they did what they were made to do, and in a way their primitive nature made them easier to operate.

Accord pressed forwards down the corridor, feeling a few of the operator's bullets clip the armour plate at his chest before they pinged away harmlessly. The operator seemed to realise he was both outmatched and exposed, as he went to reach for a grenade at his waist before Accord fired another burst from the older model battle rifle. It struck the operator in the head, blowing off the top of his skull, the contents of it splattering onto the wall behind him before he fell backwards.

As the operative went down, Accord strode onwards, checking each cell as he went by. Most were empty, and he could feel his anxiety building as he came to the end of the cellblock and was yet to find the Spartan.

"Leah?" He called her name again, and this time he received a response.

"Over here." The familiar voice turned his head right away, and he stopped before the cell it had come from. Leah was standing at the door, her hands and ankles bound by metal manacles. She was surprised to see him, at least at first, before the gravity of the situation seemed to register on her features. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come for you." Accord tried the door. It did not budge, locked tight as it was with an old-fashioned lock and a somewhat more modern keypad one.

Leah frowned, as if she could hardly believe that the Forerunner was here.

"You came here? You risked your ass to rescue me?" She sounded incredulous. Accord was not sure what he had expected from her. Gratitude? She hardly seemed the type for that. No, it was something else. She had let herself get captured to give him a chance to escape, yet here he was putting himself in harm's way to get her back. "Are you crazy? You should have left this planet…"

"We will do that," Accord interrupted. "As soon as we have you with us." He glanced back a Jak'Talva, who was watching the corridor behind them. Accord levelled his rifle and pointed it to the locks on the door. He doubted even they would be able to withstand several hits from a high-powered rifle. Leah saw what he intended and took a few steps back. As soon as she was clear, he opened fire, spraying about half a dozen bullets into the two locks. Sparks flew and metal clanked, with the keypad lock exploding into several pieces. The door itself opened slightly, and he reached over and pulled it the rest of the way with one hand.

Leah emerged, and the manacles at her wrists and ankles were the next thing to catch the Forerunner's attention. She held out her hands, and Accord pressed the barrel in the middle of the set around her wrists. Leah turned her head, and Accord fired a single shot, sending it straight through the metal and into the floor. The manacles themselves broke apart, and Leah tossed the ruined metal pieces aside before Accord knelt down and did the same to those at her ankles. Free of them, she stepped out into the corridor, and her gaze went into the neighbouring cell. Accord, satisfied that the main part of his haphazard rescue mission was complete, turned to her and quickly realised that they were being watched.

A tall, saurian-headed alien stood in the neighbouring cell. He was not bound in any way; presumably the manacles had been 'special treatment' reserved for Leah. He watched the trio with his emerald green eyes narrowed, and Accord received a sense of weariness from him.

"You have friends willing to risk their lives for you," the alien said. "Perhaps they would be kind enough to let me out of this cell?"

Leah turned to Accord.

"We should let him out," she said. Accord could hardly see any reason why. For one, he did not know who this alien was, nor did he see any way he might be of help to them. Still, Leah must have known something he did not, either that or it was simply compassion that played across her features. Accord realised that the alien had turned its head to him, and was watching him intensely through the bars of his cell.

"What are you?" He asked.

"He's a Forerunner," Leah replied. The alien seemed taken aback by this response. Leah turned to Jak'Talva, giving a slightly bemused look as if his presence here was something she had not been expecting, before she snatched the rifle from his hands and turned it on the door of the alien's cell.

"Stand back," she ordered, and the alien did just that. Accord looked down the corridor, concerned that they were taking too long to make their escape. For now, though, the corridor itself was clear. Even with that the case, it was likely reinforcements would arrive shortly, probably those serving this 'Colonel Carson' he keep hearing about.

Leah fired a burst into the locks on the alien's cell, opening the door. The alien emerged, standing as tall as Accord, iron-hard muscle visible on his exposed forearms. He was staring at Accord, as if he could not entirely believe what he was seeing.

"Who is he?" Jak'Talva demanded, receiving a harsh look from the alien.

"Davam 'Ktham," the alien replied. "I do not intend to stay with you long, but for now I believe our chances of survival are considerably improved if we work together." He then turned to Accord, who remained uncertain of this alien's true intentions. "Even more so, if this one is indeed a Forerunner. With that in mind, you must have many people interested in capturing you."

Accord did not reply. Instead, he looked at Leah, who had turned her attention to the corridor ahead. Her mind was on escape, as was his, and she motioned the others to follow. Accord did so without a second thought, putting enough trust in this woman to see them out of this place. Jak'Talva fell into step behind him, and the Skirmisher paused for a moment to pluck the submachine gun and spare magazines from a dead ONI operative they passed by. Finally, Davam tailed along at the rear of the group, unarmed for now, yet his eyes scanned their surroundings carefully, his alertness immediately apparent.

Leah began to take them back the way they had come. However, as they rounded a corner at the end of the hall, it became clear that leaving was unlikely to be an easy matter. About three of the ONI operatives were in the corridor ahead, and they had their weapons trained in the group's direction. As soon as Leah peered around the corner, the trio of well-armed foes let fly with a hail of automatic weapons fire, blowing chunks out of the wall near Leah and causing the Spartan to take several steps back. Their options here were limited, Accord could see that, and their only way out of the cell-block was back the way he had come in. The ONI operatives likely knew this as well, and had made sure to put themselves between the group and the exit.

"They're blocking us in," Leah said. She turned to the others, and weighed her rifle in her hands. "Is there another way out?"

"I have no idea," Jak'Talva replied. "Your Forerunner friend insisted on coming through the front door. This is a cellblock, so I doubt there would be too many paths out of here."

Before any of them could say anything else, several gunshots rang out from further down the corridor, followed by bursts of automatic weapons fire. Accord peered around the corner, and saw that two of the ONI operatives had been gunned down, with the third rising to his feet and shooting at some unseen foe at an adjoining corridor near him. He was promptly shot down himself, falling to the floor with about half a dozen holes shot through him. Without any further thought on the matter, Accord rounded the corner and started towards where the ONI operatives had fallen. As he neared, a pair of Carson's soldiers came from the adjoining hallway, their weapons raised as they swept their gazes over the three enemies they had just slain. Neither of them were fast enough to react to Accord's approach, as the Forerunner shot both of them down with two quick bursts, one into each, that sent the pair crumpling to the floor, blood pooling around them.

"I know you're brave, Accord," Leah said, as she followed after him, "But you're bordering on recklessness."

"We cannot afford to be delayed," Accord stated. "If we intend on leaving this planet, then we must do so with haste." He turned to look down the adjoining corridor, catching sight of an exit sign further down. It was an alternate way out, an emergency exit by the look of it.

"You shouldn't have come back for me," Leah said. She seemed to consider the two paths ahead of them, weighing the options carefully. "It was reckless. Like the stunt you just pulled."

"You rescued me, Leah." Accord turned to her, their eyes meeting. He could see that she meant what she said, albeit to an extent. There was genuine gratitude on her face, something even he could see, despite being fairly new to reading human expressions. "It was only right that I return the favour."

"You did what you felt was right?"

Accord nodded his head.

"Yes, Leah. That is precisely why I came here." There was an extended pause between the two of them, as Leah considered these words. They seemed to have struck a chord within her, not that she said anything to this effect.

"Do we have a vehicle?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Across the street." Jak'Talva was the one to say this. "But it's old and slow. I thought I saw an armoured personnel carrier outside, which might be the better option."

Leah nodded in acknowledgement of this. She then turned to Davam, who had been following the three of them in relative silence.

"What about you? You want to come with us? We're planning on leaving Thrace."

The Sangheili seemed to consider this for a moment, before he slowly nodded his head.

"I will remain with you for now," he said. It was as good an answer as any, and it seemed to satisfy Leah. She started on ahead, heading for the emergency exit. By the look of where they were going, they would emerge out of the side of the building, which would likely put them near one of the other gates. Accord had not planned any further than this, not that he had planned much to begin with, and he simply figured that an escape vehicle was something they would be able to find once they were out of the complex. Indeed, there should be plenty of them on the streets.

The group hurried down the concrete corridor, before Leah shoved open the emergency exit door. A high-pitched alarm sounded as she did so, and it remained on for as long as the door itself was open. Beyond the door was a narrow road of sorts, winding around the side of the building and towards the rear parking area. A handful of vehicles were visible there, as was the armoured truck that Jak'Talva had mentioned. What struck Accord about the whole situation was how quiet it had become. The gunfire had stopped, and the outside of the police headquarters itself seemed strangely devoid of life. It was _too_ quiet, in fact, and as the group entered the large parking area, Leah realised that they had effectively walked into a trap, or at the very least, had gone right where their enemies had wanted them to go.

She had seen photos of Colonel Carson, as was necessary for someone who was being sent to fight the man and his army of goons. Operation Distant Thunder had been concocted by Commander Boone to destabilise the independent worlds that had sprung up on the frontier, in order to better pave the way for the UNSC to re-establish their rule out here. Colonel Carson had been one of a handful of powerful, self-styled 'warlords' who had consolidated their power and put themselves in charge of such planets, knowing full well that doing so would place them squarely in the sights of the UNSC. The man himself she had never met, and she had thought that perhaps, at some point down the line, she would be the one to either arrest or kill him. She was surprised, then, to see him standing across the parking area, flanked by about half a dozen soldiers, all of whom had their weapons aimed at the group. He was smoking a cigar, and he seemed unfazed by all that had transpired around them.

"If you intend on escape, you won't get far." The first words out of Carson's mouth were self-assured. He might not have known of their avenue for escape, but he knew that it was unlikely the group would get anywhere near it. This was something Leah had only briefly considered, whereas Accord had been confident that they would be able to reach Jak'Talva's freighter without any significant difficulty. Of course, the Forerunner was confident because it was within his nature to be, while Leah was somewhat more realistic about her situation.

"My soldiers are surrounding this place as we speak." Carson took the cigar from his mouth, blowing smoke after it. "I suggest you all surrender. I for one would love to talk with the tall, mysterious alien you've got with you, Spartan Leah." Somehow, he knew who she was. Leah had heard of Carson's intelligence channels, that the man had access to information no insurrectionist should have been able to access, but even so it was still a surprise to hear him use her name. Last she checked, she had not actually revealed her identity to any of the soldiers who had brought her here.

Leah raised her rifle, sizing up their chances. About six guns pointed her way, with more likely hidden out of view around them. She glanced at Accord, who had stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowed and his expression stone-like. Still, she thought she glimpsed some of the anger building underneath that usually stoic exterior of his, especially now he must have realised that their chances of a clean getaway had diminished significantly.

"I take it you aren't on good terms with your superiors at ONI?" It was as if Carson did not expect an answer to any of these questions, delivering them more as rhetorical ones more than anything else. Leah could have shot him then and there, but that would have given his soldiers the perfect excuse to open fire, cutting them all down in the exposed, open air parking lot with ease. Leah knew when she was beat, but part of her stopped her from lowering her gun.

"What if I said that I would let you go, but on the condition that you do something for me?" It was a surprise question, coming from Carson, and Leah found herself doing a doubletake upon hearing it. What could he possibly be referring to, with this 'condition'? She certainly could not trust anything Carson said, no matter how amiable he might have sounded.

"You're not the only one who wants to talk to the 'mysterious alien' I've got with me," Leah replied. Carson smiled at this, his sense of humour apparent.

"That doesn't surprise me. Forerunners are a rarity nowadays, aren't they?"

* * *

From his perch, Spartan Eric had a clean line of sight on Leah and her friends. He also had a clean line of sight on Colonel Carson, and for a moment he had considered shooting the Colonel over Leah. The Colonel had been the enemy here, the main reason they had even come to Thrace in the first place. Yet something caused him to shift the scope onto Leah, and it was likely to do with the fact that, in general terms, she was a traitor. She had made an enemy out of ONI, all because of some newly developed conscience that did not often show in Spartans, engineered and trained as they were.

Eric was up on the far wall overlooking the parking area, with his DMR perched on the half-wall in front of him. So far, no one had caught wind of his presence here, and he intended to reveal himself when he was sure it was the right opportunity. He could put a bullet into Leah's head right now, and then follow up with one into the Skirmisher's head, followed by the Sangheili that had joined her rapidly-expanding group of criminals. However, doing so would probably ruin the opportunity he had to kill Carson, and he did not intend for that man to get away. Not when he was standing further down, in a position that Eric would have no difficulty taking aim at and shooting. He would have to be quick, as the first sign of trouble was likely to put Carson into cover. As for the Forerunner, Eric would have to somehow apprehend him, which would be a bit tricky now that his entire team had been slaughtered. More were supposed to be on their way from off-world, but for now the ONI contingent here had become very much short-staffed.

Without further delay, he took aim at Leah, and fingered the trigger.

* * *

"Let's see," Carson added, looking at the disparate group before him. "A Spartan, a Forerunner, a Skirmisher and a Sangheili. It's like the start of a bad joke." He took another drag on his cigar, as he eyed Leah and her companions carefully. Leah got the impression that he was sizing them up, as if preparing for a fight.

"I'll be willing to forgive you for all the mess you've made, if you help me with a little problem I have."

"What problem?" Leah asked. She did not like where this was going. That was about all she could think on the matter at that moment, as she felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. She turned, and she saw that Accord had turned around, his eyes going to the far wall, all the while his hand guided her gaze to where his had fallen.

"Get down," he stated, in a level tone despite the urgency such a request was often spoken with. Leah did as she was told, and she did so a split second before a gunshot rang out from somewhere nearby. The bullet clipped her upper left arm, sending a searing, stinging pain shooting up into her shoulder that made her grunt and stumble. Accord opened fire at the armoured figure who had been perched upon the far wall, causing him to seek cover behind the concrete barrier before him.

As Accord opened fire, the soldiers went to start shooting, but Carson signalled them to hold off. He seemed to have caught on to what was happening very quickly, the man's intelligence apparent.

"What was that?" Carson asked, his voice calm despite the shooting that had just occurred. Accord kept his eyes set on the wall, but no further movement caught his attention. Spartan Eric had retreated, thwarted by the Forerunner's keen eyesight.

"A friend," Leah replied. She put her free hand to her left arm, feeling the blood running down from the gash that had been left in the wake of the close shave. She turned to Accord, who lowered his rifle and turned to her. He nodded to her, an acknowledgement of her gratitude, but also a nod of understanding. He seemed to know now that they had no options left before them, no way of escape from here other than whatever suspicious 'out' Colonel Carson had in mind.

"Some friends you have." Carson stepped forwards, confidently so, and he started towards the group. Davam watched him with considerable contempt, while Jak'Talva offered the Skirmisher version of a sheepish smile as the Colonel made eye contact with him. "Good to see you're still up and about, birdman."

"I do what I can to make sure I stay that way," Jak'Talva replied.

"Yeah, I bet." Carson stopped a short distance before Leah, and he held out a hand as if to shake it with her. The smile on his face was a confident one, as he was well aware of her awkward position.

"We should go and talk, at my place," he offered. "You and your friends. The Forerunner in particular." His eyes went to Accord, who simply returned his gaze with a stoic, if wary, expression. "We have ourselves a very unique opportunity here, and you might say that I'm in need of the services of a Spartan." He continued smiling, as if he knew it grated on Leah's nerves. As for the hand he had offered her, she glanced at it but made no move to grab hold of it. Carson was a brave man, approaching a Spartan like he did, but he was also a smart one. And he saw an opportunity here, whatever that may have been. All Leah could do, for now at least, was to play along.


	24. Amiable Meetings

**Amiable Meetings**

Bringing the cruiser into the planet's atmosphere had been a necessary move. The humans had almost overrun their defences on the ground, so putting a cruiser above their camp and pointing its plasma cannons downwards had given their human enemies a good reason to retreat. They would come back, of course, and they would likely have with them the means to destroy a Covenant cruiser. Baron 'Sraom knew this only too well, and as he strode down the halls of the ship with a particular purpose in mind. He found himself thinking about what they had found in the dig site, specifically the _lack_ of anything they had found, beyond some inert Forerunner computer terminals. The Minister of Information had to answer for this seemingly waste of time, and the Baron intended to do just that.

He stormed into the Minister's quarters, the two Sangheili guards outside parting ways for him without question. They were loyal to the Baron, after all, and the San'Shyuum who had taken up residence in the chamber beyond had few friends on board the cruiser. It had really been the Baron's influence that had kept him alive, a fact that he had reminded the Minister of several times in the past, if only to make sure he knew his place and the precarious state it was in. Now, though, Baron 'Sraom's patience had finally worn thin, and he found himself barging into the Minister's quarters in a far more intrusive manner than usual. As for the Minister, he was in his anti-grav chair, hovering near his desk to one side of the circular living quarters. He looked up from his work as the Sangheili entered, and he seemed to pick up right away on the Baron's sour mood.

"Baron 'Sraom, I did not summon you…" The Minister spun around to face him, as the Baron walked his way. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed the San'Shyuum's long neck, gripping it tightly, enough to partially lift the frail alien from his chair.

"I do not need to be summoned when I am on board my own vessel," the Baron countered. "You brought us here on promises of Forerunner relics, and yet we have found nothing. What information have you been leading us on, oh Minister of Information?" He made the sarcasm and contempt in his voice blatant, so as to avoid any misunderstandings as to what the Minister might think of what he was saying.

"Please…let me go, you brute…" The Minister practically spat the words, as he struggled to gain breath around the Sangheili's vice-like grip. As to allow him to speak properly, the Baron released the Minister, allowing him to fall back in his floating chair. The Minister rubbed at his now aching neck, all the while shooting a mean-spirited glance at the Baron.

"There is nothing but rubble in that Forerunner structure," the Baron said, his tone level. He reined in his anger a bit, enough so that he was not lashing out at the Minister, as much as he wanted to do so. "If there were relics, then the humans have taken them."

"What did you hope for us to find down there?" The Baron leaned forwards slightly, bringing their faces close together. "That is what I want to know."

"Stasis technology," the Minister said simply. This was the kind of information he had been reluctant to release, at least up until now. Perhaps he had finally reached the conclusion that keeping secrets would only make his situation worse? "I had to delve deep into Forerunner records to find that information, as well as to find the coordinates for this planet. The Forerunners were experimenting with stasis fields as a means of preserving themselves, or to imprison less desirable individuals. It was experimental, even to them, at that point in their history." The Minister frowned, looking up at the Baron as if he hoped that this answer had satisfied him.

"Stasis?" The Baron smiled, or at least did the unsettling Sangheili equivalent, with all the teeth on all his mandibles bared. "As you should be well aware of, Minister, I am one who likes to prepare for all eventualities. I had a number of my own soldiers placed onto Thrace some time before our arrival here, and they have recently reported back to me of certain interesting occurrences within the main human settlement. Specifically, rumours of a mysterious, large bipedal alien who has been sighted by a number of people and Kig-Yar. Rumours are never something to base one's military actions upon, but given our reason for being here, compounded with your talk of 'stasis' technology, I am beginning to put the many disparate pieces of this matter together." He had been thinking over the possibilities for some hours now; from the intrusion a few days prior, shortly after they had landed; to the reports from informants within the human settlement of the goings-on there, and the sightings of this unusual specimen. "I think you hoped for the same thing, Minister."

"What would that be?" The Minister sounded anxious now, as if he realised that the Baron had come close to the truth.

"You hoped to find a living Forerunner here," the Baron said simply. "And it looks like there may very well be one roaming the streets of the human settlement. Why did you not tell me this from the beginning?"

As expected, the Minister had no answer. The Baron did not need one, and without further delay, he pulled the small energy blade from his waist with one hand and in the blink of an eye he had activated it, casting forth the searing blue blade. The Minister had only a second to react before the Baron plunged it into his chest, making sure to put it through the San'Shyuum's heart. He let out a gasp, his final one at that, before his head upon its long neck slumped forwards. The Sangheili felt the Minister relax underneath his blade, and with a single motion he had pulled it free, leaving behind a deep red gash, partially cauterised but trickling deep red blood nonetheless. Oddly enough, Baron 'Sraom did not feel any great sense of satisfaction, as he had hoped he would. He had killed plenty of people in the past, it had come almost as second nature to him, which he supposed might have diminished the effect of killing an annoying pest such as the Minister of Information. Even so, he could not help but feel slightly disappointed in his overall lack of sensation over the killing, and with this in mind he deactivated the foot-long blade and placed the hilt back upon the armour at his thigh.

He walked over to the Minister's private terminal, specifically a holographic computer monitor off to one wall. It was not connected to the ship's internal network, and the Baron had not considered it as any real threat or source of concern because of this. However, he had reason to believe that whatever information the Minister had taken off of High Charity during the evacuation was stored within the computer's memory. The Baron walked over to it, tapping some of the holographic buttons as he manoeuvred his way through to the computer's core databank. There were many files here, none of which he recognised, named in the San-Shyuum dialect of which he was fairly well spoken. Many of the names were vague, but some made it apparent that these files had been gleamed from the Ministry itself. A veritable goldmine of San'Shyuum secrets, and the Minister had brought it with him, having known full well that such information would keep him alive. It had, for a while, but it had really only delayed the inevitable.

"What secrets have you been keeping from me, Minister?" Baron 'Sraom muttered, as he sorted through the files on the display.

* * *

Carson's estate was unusually lavish for a home on Thrace, but Leah figured that she should have expected as much. It had once been the centre of government for the previous UNSC-controlled governing body. So off course, Colonel Carson had taken the building for his own personal use, turning it into some kind of presidential palace like any true dictator.

Leah, Davam and Jak'Talva were brought through the rear gate of the compound and were escorted to a small concrete building in the far corner. A glorified cellblock, and Leah could only muse at the irony of escaping one cell before being thrown into another. As for Accord, he was taken into the estate itself, and Leah watched as the guards took him towards the grand, old-fashioned mansion, before pulling him inside, taking him from view. Colonel Carson was nowhere to be seen, although Leah got the impression that he was around, probably inside the mansion itself.

As for the inside of the concrete bunker, it was mostly grimy and empty. The three of them were herded into a mostly barren room at one end and locked inside. Leah's arm ached, but her nature as a Spartan had ensured that the pain was not as bad as it could have been, and that the healing process itself was somewhat accelerated. She would be able to get by with the wound, even as hastily bandaged up as it was.

"What now?" Jak'Talva was the one to ask this. He received an unamused glance from Davam, who sat down on the one bench in the concrete room while Leah paced by the door.

"We wait," Davam replied. He seemed to be taking things well, despite what had happened to bring them here. "If they wanted to kill us, they would have done so already. I suspect that Colonel Carson has plans for the three of us."

"He certainly has plans with the big guy," Jak'Talva said. He leaned against the back wall and crossed his arms, a very human gesture Leah thought. "I can't say that I'm pleased with what's happened. I mean, before the Forerunner made me tag along on his wild rescue mission, I wasn't in a cell. Yet, now, here I am, locked away and worse off than I was earlier. And now I've got a Sangheili for company." He narrowed his eyes at Davam. Leah turned to look at the pair, and she got the immediate impression that neither of them particularly liked the other. She should have thought as much from the get-go, given their vastly different natures. The Sangheili attitude of superiority over the other Covenant races was seeping out of Davam even now, judging from his apparent disdain for the Skirmisher. As for Jak'Talva, it was clear that he had little love for the Sangheili in return, probably because of their general attitudes.

"Hey, you two," Leah said, causing both aliens to turn their heads towards her. "Can we get along? Please? I don't want you two trying to tear out each other's throats."

"There would be no contest if that were to happen," Davam stated.

"Yeah, right." Jak'Talva let out an irritated huff. "Tell me, Leah, did we need to bring him along? How can we trust him?"

"I can trust him as much as I can trust you," Leah countered. "Which really isn't very much. I'm still trying to work out what you hope to gain from helping Accord and I."

"Gain?" Jak'Talva sounded surprised by the question. "I don't hope to gain anything, except to prevent myself from getting killed. Your Forerunner friend pretty much forced me to go along with him."

"I'm surprised you didn't run off at the first sign of trouble," Leah said. She did not know the Skirmisher well, but one thing she had gathered during their brief time together was that he was the sort of person who leaned very strongly in the 'self-preservation' direction. She had met others like him, humans mainly, yet Jak'Talva had a special place for the simple fact that he was probably the most 'human' Skirmisher she had ever met. The way he spoke, the gestures he used, it was as if he was trying very hard to fit into the primarily human society he had landed in. This was likely just another way of doing business with humans, that by acting like one he might get on someone's good side a little easier.

"Your friend Accord had the lockout codes for my freighter," Jak'Talva said. "He still has them. My one ticket off this rock and he's still got them stuffed in his pocket."

"Is it really true?" Davam was the one to ask this, his gaze going to Leah. "Is he really a Forerunner?"

"Why, you sound almost in awe of him," Jak'Talva interjected. "Don't tell me you think he's a god or something?"

"It's true," Leah replied, ignoring Jak'Talva's remark. "He's a Forerunner. I found him in some kind of stasis chamber in a buried Forerunner structure." As she said this, she realised that what had happened only days before felt like an eternity ago. A lot had happened between then and now. With that thought in mind, she found it odd that she had come to care so much about Accord. Maybe because he was the reason she was in her current predicament, because he had driven her to do what she had thought was right instead of being the good little Spartan she used to be. Maybe it was something else, but what 'it' may have been was alien to her.

"And here we are," Davam said. "All brought together because of him. I might suspect that a higher power had a hand in us being here."

"You really believe that?" Jak'Talva was unconvinced, which did not surprise Leah in the slightest. As for this 'higher power' talk, she remained sceptical, but also open-minded. As a Spartan, she had been taught to deal in the real world. God and the like were not something she had ever given much thought to. Still, one could not deny the providence that had brought her and Accord together. Any other Spartan would have handed him over to ONI, no questions asked. Certainly the likes of Eric would have followed orders without question, and as a result Accord would probably be in a laboratory somewhere, having every inch of him worked over like he were no more than a guinea pig. Leah knew otherwise, and what made her different to those in ONI who sought to exploit Accord was that she cared. She cared about what happened to him, and she did not intend to let him fall into such a miserable fate.

"Looks like that 'higher power' of yours is intent on letting us rot in this cell," Jak'Talva added.

"I think the Colonel will call for us soon," Leah said. The Skirmisher gave her a funny look, as he could not entirely believe that.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a hunch," Leah replied.

* * *

"Take a seat."

Accord had found himself brought into a well decorated mansion, specifically brought into a dining area that was so far populated with only Colonel Carson. He was seated at the head of a long table, one shrouded in a white tablecloth, and a number of plates were positioned down its centre. A bowl of green, leafy salad was among them, and the Colonel seemed to notice Accord's eyes go to it as the Forerunner was brought into the room. The guards who had been escorting him turned and left, closing the door behind them. This left the pair alone in the dining room, which to Accord seemed like a rather brave move on the Colonel's part.

"You must be hungry," Carson said. He pushed the salad bowl with one hand. "I heard that you're a vegetarian. Nothing wrong with that, of course. I do enjoy a good Caesar salad myself." He gestured to one of the vacant seats at his end of the table. "Take a seat, please." Once again, the man reached into a pocket on his uniform and removed a cigar. Accord found the whole notion of inhaling plant-laced smoke into one's lungs an abhorrent one, but he had since stopped trying to make sense of some of these human habits. As per the Colonel's request, he took a seat just to the man's left, although the smell of the smoke quickly began to irritate his nose.

The guards had taken his weapons away, and they had made sure to strip the cloth-wrapping away from his head and face, thereby showing his alien features to all who looked upon him. The Colonel seemed remarkably calm, despite having the large and imposing Forerunner seated near him. Accord could have reached over and crushed the man's neck, but he resisted that urge. Something told him that if he tried any stunts here, then Leah would be on the receiving end of any retaliation. It seemed that Colonel Carson had plenty of reason to be so self-assured and confident.

"You're a Forerunner," Carson stated. He was simply confirming what he already knew. "Somehow, they dug you out of that hole, didn't they?"

"Hole?"

"The dig site. The one that I gave the archaeologists permission to start in the first place. They were convinced that there were Forerunner ruins underneath. Looks like they were right." Carson took a hearty puff upon his cigar, blowing forth a thick plume of grey smoke that promptly faded as it floated towards the ceiling. "What I'm curious about, is what you're going to do. You've got ONI after you, don't you? And they aren't ones to give up. They've been after me for years." He took the cigar from his mouth, holding it to a glass ashtray on the table in front of him. "You need a place to settle down. Thing is, you're probably not going to get that, as long as ONI is chasing you."

"Why have you brought me here?" Accord narrowed his eyes. "I do not wish to have my time wasted by petty conversation."

"Petty? This is hardly 'petty'." Carson cocked one eyebrow. "I never did catch your name…"

"Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience," the Forerunner replied.

"Interesting name."

"Again, why have you brought me here?" Accord did not trust this human. How could he, when the man was so clearly hiding his own agenda from him? The way he carried himself, and the accommodations he granted himself, indicated a man who thought much more highly of himself than he actually was. A dictator, Accord realised, one who had gained control of an entire planet, likely through some violent coup. He had probably taken advantage of the chaos of the recent war the humans had fought with the 'Covenant', and from what Leah had told him it would seem that Colonel Carson had not been the only one to do such a thing.

"I want to talk to the only living Forerunner in existence," Carson said. "That's all. A decent conversation over a meal. Is that too much to ask?"

"What about Leah?"

"The Spartan?" Carson gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. "She's fine, if that's what you're worried about. I don't intend on harming her, not as long as she plays ball."

"Plays ball?"

Carson smiled at Accord's confusion.

"I'd say you're a bit out of it when it comes to sayings like that." Carson let his cigar smoulder in the ashtray, as he rolled its tip along the rim absently. "I have something in mind for Spartan Leah and those other two strays. The Skirmisher and I had a business arrangement, and that Sangheili is an unknown factor, but as for Leah I don't intend on killing her. Not at this point in time, just as much as I don't intend on killing you. I'd essentially be ending an entire species if I killed you, and that wouldn't sit right on my conscience. I'm not a barbarian, Accord-of-Perpetual Resilience." He spoke the name carefully, and with a grin, as if he found it amusing.

After a brief pause, the Colonel used one hand to gesture towards a glass jug of water in front of Accord.

"Take a drink. I suspect you're thirsty, after everything that's happened. You Forerunners do drink, don't you?"

Accord did indeed feel thirsty. It had been a while since he had eaten as well, and the mundane looking salad in the bowl in front of him was beginning to look more and more appealing. He took the jug and, without really thinking about it, put the whole thing to his mouth and began to drink. He gulped down about half of it before he heard Carson chuckle.

"Normally, people would pour some into a glass." He held up one of the glasses in question. "Not that it matters much. I wouldn't expect someone like you to be up to speed on general eating etiquette."

Accord wiped his mouth with one sleeve, the cold water surprisingly refreshing as it washed down his gullet. He placed the jug back upon the table, and briefly considered helping himself to the salad. Of course, he felt that he might be giving the Colonel some kind of satisfaction if he started eating the man's food, even if his stomach grumbled at the sight of it. He had not expected human food to agree with him, but plants were plants, and as a vegetarian like every other Forerunner that had once existed, he figured he would have no problems digesting the offered salad. Slowly, and with some awkwardness, he dragged the bowl towards him and picked up one of the forks in front of him. He began eating in earnest, crunching down on the mostly green leaves, finding that for how basic it was, the taste was surprisingly good. In fact, it occurred to him that he had not eaten a proper meal for some time, save for his brief stay at Nolte's house, as prior to his entering stasis he had relied on his armour to sustain him. Eating, like a normal living thing, such a basic necessity, had been a luxury he had gone long without.

"A man's got to eat," Carson commented. "Even a Forerunner."

"What do you want from me?" Accord asked.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said 'nothing'." Carson clasped his hands on the table in front of him. "What I would like from you, Accord, is some answers. I have delved into what information my people have unearthed about your species, and the things that you Forerunners were once capable of. I want to know if there's anything about you that may help me here, on Thrace. Anything in any Forerunner installations that might be on this planet, or on the frontier."

Accord had sensed that the man had been after mere personal gain. That had been apparent as soon as Accord had been brought here, and he figured that the others who were after him were likely in it purely for themselves as well. The benefit of having access to a living Forerunner could very well have provided things that no one else would have access to. Unfortunately, Accord would have to disappoint the Colonel, just like he had with ONI.

"I am a Warrior-Servant," Accord said. "I am a soldier, bred to fight. I do not have the answers you seek, I can tell you that much right now."

"What about the place where you were found? Is there anything in there that might be useful to a man like me, one who's simply trying to defend his planet?"

"In the facility?" Accord shook his head. "I would not know. I did not work in that facility, I was simply sent there to liberate it from our enemies."

"Looks like it didn't work out." Carson took another puff on his cigar. Accord felt slightly incensed by the Colonel's comment, but otherwise kept his feelings in check. He had not chosen to be put in stasis, and he had not expected to be left there for over one-hundred thousand years. His people had likely presumed him dead, after they had bombarded the planet from orbit. Dead and buried, much like his sister had been, giving her life to save his.

"Surely there's some Forerunner computer?" Carson asked.

"The facility was severely damaged, and I suspect much of it was destroyed." However, he did not mention the possibility that even one computer terminal might still be functioning after all of this time. Accord's people had built things to last, the Builders and Engineers, and the idea of a working terminal planted a hopeful seed within him. Perhaps he could uncover answers of his own, if there was indeed a working terminal? A means to find out more about what had happened, between now and his internment in stasis?

"That would explain why people are after _you_ ," Carson said. "The Forerunner facility here might be a wreck, but there are plenty of intact ones scattered across the known galaxy. They probably think they can get you to bring it back into working order."

"That much is doubtful." Accord narrowed his eyes slightly, attempting to gauge the Colonel's reaction. "I am a soldier. I did not build these facilities, and my knowledge of how they might work is limited. Had I been a Builder, or an Engineer, perhaps I would have such answers."

"Did you tell ONI that?"

"In a way, yes."

Carson nodded his head, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.

"Judging from recent events, I'd say they don't believe you." Carson took up a bottle of a brown looking liquid from the table in front of him, and he popped off the lid, before pouring himself a glass. It was something alcoholic, and the word 'bourbon' caught Accord's eye from the label on the bottle. "I could give your friends, the Spartan at least, safe passage off of Thrace. The means to leave unmolested by ONI or the Covenant, for that matter." He reached into one pocket then, and pulled out the data-stick containing the lockout codes for Jak'Talva's freighter. The Colonel's men had confiscated the item from Accord before bringing him in here.

"You trust the Skirmisher?" Carson asked.

"No." The truth, and a simple one at that.

"Good." The Colonel put the data-stick upon the table, one finger tapping at it absently. "Because I don't, and I used to do business with him. Only because he got me some hard to find merchandise, as he's one of the best salvagers and arms dealers in the frontier, with no UNSC ties. Your plan to free his ship would not have worked, partly because it's not parked where Jak'Talva thinks it is, and also because it has been fitted with a tracking device. ONI's doing, no doubt, but it's a signal my people have been able to tap into. However, what I can do for your friend, the Spartan, is provide another ship to escape Thrace."

"In exchange for what?"

"Your help. Her help. Any help either of you can give." The Colonel picked up the data-stick and without warning, dropped it into the half-full jug of water before them. Accord watched as the hard work he and Leah had put into getting those codes floated to the bottom of the jug, likely reduced to a non-functioning state. "Your help, because I want to know everything there is to know about the Forerunners. Her help, because she's a Spartan and we have a Covenant problem here on Thrace."

The Colonel looked towards the door of the dining room abruptly Someone must have been watching, as he raised one hand and the door opened. Two men came in, carrying between them a large metal box marked with UNSC insignia. They placed it upon the table at the far end, and the two of them flipped the latches on the chest before pulling it open.

"You might not be familiar with the Mark IV Surgical Warheads," the Colonel said. "However, Spartan Leah will most certainly know of them. She might have even used one herself." He rose from his seat as Accord's gaze went over to the contents of the box. He knew right away that he was looking at some sort of atomic based weapon, a primitive and dangerous form of weapon at that, but an effective one nonetheless. The warhead itself was perhaps the size of his head, encased in a battered metal cylindrical shell with a small control panel set in one side. It looked so innocuous, yet within was enough destructive force to level a large town. Accord should have known that the humans would have such weapons at their disposal. For all the progress they appeared to have made, they were still using things that his people had long ago phased out. Even the humans he had known in his time would never have used actual nuclear warheads.

"They're low yield, usually fitted into bunker penetration missiles. Still, you get one of these on board a Covenant ship and you'll vaporise it from the inside out. And that, Accord, is what I intend for your Spartan friend to help us achieve."

"She won't help you."

"She will, because if she doesn't I'll hurt you." Carson spoke matter-of-factly, and it was likely committing harm was something he got a kick out of. Accord watched as the man walked over to the chest, and he very casually lifted the warhead out of it. He rested it on the table, and with the flick of a switch activated the small display on its side above the control panel. "Much in the same way that if you try any stunts, I'll hurt her. Of course, she doesn't need to know that." He smiled at him then, a disconcerting one at that, and Accord felt the sudden urge to beat the man's brains out of his skull. Of course, doing so would only result in exactly what Carson said it would.

Someone else entered the room then. Another one of his soldiers, in uniform, who rushed up to his side and spoke quietly into the man's ear. The Colonel listened carefully, and nodded his head once the soldier was done passing on whatever message. He then looked back to Accord, his expression becoming far more serious.

"Looks like we'll be putting this thing to use much sooner than I expected." The Colonel seemed to grin then, if only for a second. "The Covenant cruiser is on its way here. They may even be after you, Accord. I wouldn't be surprised."

Accord did not reply. There was nothing to say, really. These Covenant aliens, who had apparently worshipped his species as gods, were something he was still very much unfamiliar with. Nonetheless, the fact that yet more enemies were on their way to him suggested the dire need for him to get off of this planet. Perhaps the ship that Carson had promised could be the way out he needed? Not that he trusted anything the Colonel said, he was just someone else who was after Accord for his own ends. There was something immensely frustrating about being the centre of attention for so many people, while really all Accord wanted was to be left alone, as he was certainly never going to be able to return to his time.

"You can stay here for now," Carson said. "Help yourself to some more salad. My soldiers and I will have to handle the incoming Covenant attack." With that, he turned and left the room with the warhead in hand, followed by the two soldiers with him. The last one out closed the door and locked it, leaving Accord alone and left to his own devices.


	25. Fourth Party Intervention

**Fourth Party Intervention**

The sensors upon a Covenant ship were fairly sophisticated, derived from Forerunner technology as they were, along with much of the other technologies contained within any given Covenant vessel. As such, the sensors upon Baron 'Sraom's cruiser had supplied a good amount of useful information, such as a precise reading of the human life-signs scattered across the main continent of Thrace, and the amount of human-made satellites in orbit. It was with this in mind that the Baron himself had organized modifications performed on the sensors themselves, shortly after he had rid himself of the nuisance that had been the Minister of Information. The Baron had been able to adjust the ship's sensors such that, instead of keeping track of the human and alien life upon the planet, they instead marked any life-sign that was unique when compared to the majority of others.

Standing in the command centre of the cruiser, the Baron surveyed the readings that splayed across the holographic map before him. Around the Baron, the command centre was a hub of activity, with crewmen milling about between terminals and passing instructions along to each other, as the cruiser moved towards the main human settlement. There were anti-air defences scattered about the settlement, which would have made positioning the ship over the town directly a poor decision. Instead, the Baron had the cruiser moving to the north of the city, over the thinning outskirts and specifically the location of the one definitely unique life signature that had been detected there. It had to be the Forerunner, there was little other possibility and the Baron had had the sensors checked and rechecked. He did not intend on leaving this planet empty handed, so he had decided to go all in on this attack, sending forth a wave of Banshees in advance to soften up the human defences.

Apparently, the building the unique life-signature was in was the centre of the human government here, a government that was independent from that of the UNSC. In a way, this helped the Baron's mission significantly, as he was less likely to face retribution from a large human fleet for attacking an independent world. Even so, he was taking a gamble, and if this life-sign did not give him what he wanted, then there was a good chance this whole mission would be a failure. He needed to leave with something tangible, and an actual living Forerunner would be a perfect trophy to leave with. If he had the one and only living Forerunner in his custody, he would be able to rally an even greater force around him, and turn Jul 'Mdama's Storm Covenant to his leadership. Those that still saw the Forerunners as gods would rally to him, and he would become one of the most powerful Sangheili in the galaxy.

All possibilities, if things went the way he intended. Nearing the town now, the human air defences lit up. The Banshees would be the first to meet them head on, but they were a spearhead, and the pilots knew their mission and had accepted the very real possibility that they would die. Several anti-air emplacements were concentrated around the lavish mansion that served as Thrace's centre of government, and all these platforms began to power up as the Banshee wave approached.

The Baron watched it all play out on the real-time holographic feed. A dozen Banshees, flying straight for the mansion, and the human guns that turned on them and opened fire with missiles and high-powered high-calibre bullets. The Battle of Deckar's Stand had begun in earnest, and the Baron intended for it to be over quickly. Once the ground defences were softened, he would lead the infantry to apprehend the last living Forerunner, and they would leave almost as quickly as they had arrived. He had even considered putting the cruiser into slip-space within atmosphere, an action that would likely destroy the entire town. With that in mind, a few hundred thousand vaporised humans was not something that was going to weigh on his conscience in any way whatsoever.

* * *

Leah had been sitting quietly in the cell, keeping an eye on both Jak'Talva and Davam as they sat opposite each other, with Jak'Talva slumped against one wall and Davam against the other. Leah was almost between the two, seated on the bench at the back wall of the cell, little for her to do but watch and wait. It seemed she had been doing a fair bit of this lately, and her rescue from one cell just to be put into another had everything to do with it. Still, things could be a lot worse, so she could at least take some solace in the fact that Accord was alive and Carson was unlikely to kill him without good reason. Still, things could have been better, and being locked in a cell was prime evidence of that.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" Jak'Talva asked suddenly. Leah looked at him, and she noticed that Davam eyed him with some noticeable disdain.

"It's only been half an hour," Leah replied. "Is patience not a Kig-Yar virtue?"

Jak'Talva audibly huffed when he heard this remark. Leah might have smiled, but the situation made such an action seem inappropriate.

"Have you any ideas on how to get us out of here?" He asked her. "You are the big bad Spartan, after all. Surely escaping a cell is something they trained you to do?"

"What about you? You're the career criminal, so escaping cells should be second nature." Leah narrowed her eyes. "I, on the other hand, only recently broke the law. I'm kind of new to this whole 'fugitive' thing."

"For a Spartan, you sure do have an attitude." Jak'Talva rose to his feet and brushed his jacket down of the dust that had collected on it from the floor. He turned to Davam, who had been sitting quietly for much of the last half an hour, seemingly having taken on a more introspective demeanour. The Sangheili war veteran was deep in contemplation, at least until the Skirmisher started talking to him. "What about you? Do you have any ideas on how to get out of here?"

Davam looked up at the Skirmisher, yet the look in his eyes remained neutral.

"As Leah said, patience." Davam clasped his hands in his lap. "An opportunity will present itself. We simply have to bide our time until then."

"Wait around? Really?" Jak'Talva scoffed. "You're a Sangheili. I thought you people liked to take charge of a situation, beat your way out of it, that kind of thing?"

"Not all Sangheili are the same." With that said, Davam seemed content to leave the matter there. As for Jak'Talva, he walked over to the cell door and knocked upon it with one hand a few times, the noises echoing about the room.

"Hey, guard?" Jak'Talva knocked again, his patience all but gone. "Can I get out of here? I need to use the bathroom." He glanced back at Leah, that toothy Skirmisher grin appearing along his snout. "Unless my cellmates here wouldn't mind if I did it in the corner?"

As if on cue, the door flung open, and two guards entered with their weapons raised. Jak'Talva immediately backed away, hands up to show he was no threat. The two guards moved to either side of the door to allow the man behind them to enter, and Leah was surprised to see that Colonel Carson himself walked in. He carried under one arm some kind of large metal cylinder, and a longer glance revealed it to be some kind of warhead. Leah frowned, uncertain of what to make of this, although the Colonel himself was quick to shed some light on his intentions with it.

"Spartan Leah," he said. "We have incoming visitors. Covenant Banshees, followed by the cruiser itself. I suspect they've come to find your Forerunner friend."

Leah took a step forward, unfazed by the pair of rifles the guards trained in her direction. She looked the Colonel straight in the eyes, this being at a slight downwards angle given that he was about a head shorter than she was. Her look was a stern one.

"Where is he?" She asked him.

"Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience is alive and well, and I even fed him." Carson gave a wry smile as he said this. "I don't intend on killing him, not if you render your services as a Spartan to me and my soldiers." He held the warhead in front of him, as if to hand it to her. "That Covenant cruiser is an unwelcome guest here, and I know you Spartans are great at killing aliens, so it seems like, for now, you and I may have to work together."

Leah did not reply right away. Instead, she let the Colonel speak, hearing him out despite her misgivings.

"As I said, the cruiser is on its way here. That means a lot of innocent people may very well die. My soldiers will do everything they can to ensure that does not happen. However, the cruiser itself is unlikely to go away, unless of course we hand over the Forerunner." Carson seemed to detect Leah's change in demeanour as soon as he made this suggestion, and he grinned at her again. "Of course, that isn't an option. We can't allow the Covenant to make off with the last surviving Forerunner in existence. That would be a terrible mistake."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That I let you out of this cell to fight for us," Carson said. "And I give you the means to destroy the cruiser." He held the warhead towards her. "Get this on board that cruiser, and you can destroy it from the inside out."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you can die here," Carson replied. "But you won't refuse, certainly not with your Forerunner friend at stake. I am confident that my soldiers can keep the Covenant Banshees and infantry preoccupied long enough for you to make the trip onto that cruiser."

It was a suicide mission. Granted, Leah had taken part in several of those in the past, often with much higher odds against her, but even so it was still likely to be a one way trip. As much as she would have liked to decline, she knew she could not. Independent this world may have been, the people here were human, and she had no intention of leaving them to fall victim to the Covenant. Her duty as a Spartan was to protect humanity from alien threats, something she had done for much of her life, throughout the long nearly thirty year war where billions had been ruthlessly slaughtered. Here was her chance to be back in her comfort zone, that of the thrill of the fight against an enemy she could feel content with killing. The hundreds of thousands of people who lived in Deckar's Stand were at risk here, and it was likely the Covenant cruiser would bombard the city if only because it could. Maybe they were here for Accord, but even she could not be sure of that.

"You must guarantee Accord's safety." Leah took the warhead from Carson's hands, feeling its weight in her arms. It had a helpful handle built on one side, and she wrapped her left hand around it, as to free her other arm. "If anything happens to him, I'll kill you myself."

"Of course, your Forerunner friend will be secured," Carson said. "I think it's best we keep him out of view of the Covenant. We can't be sure they're even here for him, or if they've simply come to destroy what government this planet has." He narrowed his eyes then, and his voice became much more serious. "If you pull any stunts, Leah, then I will not hesitate to hurt your Forerunner friend. I may not kill him, but I get the impression that you wouldn't want me to cut off one of his arms, for instance?" He sounded so confident, so self-assured, that he had her where he wanted her. In a way, he did. Leah could not be sure of Accord's whereabouts, and she had no means to track him.

"What about Jak'Talva?" She nodded to the Skirmisher. "And Davam?" She then glanced at the Sangheili, who took a step forwards as he heard his name spoken.

"I will fight," Davam said. "The one leading this Covenant force is known to me. Hurting him, even through killing his soldiers, is something I will gladly agree to help you do." His eyes met with Carson's, and the burly Sangheili's mandibles twitched slightly. "I will simply need the weapons to do so."

"Plenty of guns to go around," Carson said. "As for the Skirmisher, I get the feeling he'd rather turn tail and run."

Leah looked back at Jak'Talva, who seemed insulted by the suggestion. At the very least, he was _pretending_ to be insulted.

"I'll fight, I mean, _of course_ I'll fight." Jak'Talva did not sound entirely convincing. Still, if that Covenant cruiser was headed here, then very soon he would have no choice but to fight or die. Leah had made her decision, as had Davam, and if the Skirmisher wanted to tag along then he very well could. Just as long as he did not get in her way, as she could not guarantee that she would not shoot him 'accidentally' in the heat of battle.

"It's agreed then," Carson said. "Right on time too, since I think those Banshees are almost on top of us."

* * *

Carson showed the trio to an armoury on the mansion grounds, before the man himself moved off elsewhere to direct his soldiers. By this point, an alarm was sounding from the town, a call to evacuate or take shelter. Soldiers were running about the mansion grounds, taking up defensive positions, and automated anti-air defences were being primed. The sound of several Banshees, the high-pitched roaring echoing across the region, became apparent as soon as Leah stepped outside. The Covenant cruiser was visible over the desert hills, gradually moving towards the town with the Banshees spearheading its approach. There were about a dozen of the alien scout-craft, and they flew in a chevron formation before swooping in low over the hills on the northern edge of the town.

Leah, having armed herself with a rugged Insurrectionist semiautomatic rifle, carried the warhead on her back. It was magnetically attached to the jump pack she had acquired from Carson's surprisingly varied armoury, as the man had taken the time to accumulate numerous weapons that were supposed to be UNSC-exclusive. His deals with the likes of Jak'Talva had apparently proven fruitful.

The wide open mansion grounds did not make for proper defensible terrain. All lush green lawns and flower-beds, it was an otherwise tranquil setting spoiled by the presence of the soldiers running about and the automated missile turrets along the perimeter.

Leah placed a set of protective combat goggles over her eyes as she emerged from the concrete bunker that served as the armoury, and she rushed ahead with the other defenders as they moved to a more defensible dugout on the edge of the garden. She was followed by Davam and Jak'Talva, both of whom had armed themselves with varying weapons and explosives. Davam had opted for a precision rifle, and Jak'Talva carried a bulky semiautomatic shotgun that may have been a certified antique, albeit one in very good condition. The Insurrectionists had often wielded much older weapons compared to what the UNSC soldiers carried, yet many of those older guns had proven to be just as lethal as any of the more recent models. Even more so in some regards, as the fewer moving parts and sturdier designs sometimes made for more reliable, rugged weapons that were well-suited for use in environments such as the deserts of Thrace. The pair followed Leah's lead, for lack of anything better, and they entered the dug-out with a handful of other defenders as the flight of Banshees swept towards the mansion.

It was apparent now that the Covenant was either after Accord, or simply intended to destroy the government of Thrace. They targeted the mansion compound in particular, and the Banshees above opened fire with their plasma cannons as soon as they were within range. Streaks of blue energy swept down and scorched the lush green lawns and tore apart the flower-beds and shrubs. Small eruptions of dirt and flame occurred at each impact, and a pair of soldiers nearby were cut down in a hail of searing hot plasma that left their bodies charred and smouldering. Leah had seen it all before, not that it made it better, and she trained her designated marksman rifle at the first of the Banshees before opening fire. Her shots were precise, and she lead the fast-moving target perfectly, utilising the kind of aim that only a Spartan's keen senses would have been capable of. The high-powered rounds tore through the Banshee's fuselage, punching through the armour in places, before one of the several rounds she fired hit the pilot. The effect was immediate, as the Banshee immediately swerved off course and tilted forwards, entering a nose-dive that sent it plunging into the far wall of the compound. It exploded in a ball of blue flame, and part of the stone-brick wall collapsed under the force of the impact and subsequent detonation. Smoke and flame blossomed forth, and the other Banshees continued their strafing runs as they tore through the defending soldiers.

Automated missile turrets took aim and let fly with salvos of fast-moving missiles, each one leaving behind a smoking white contrail. Three of the Banshees exploded in mid-air when these missiles hit, smouldering pieces of them raining down from up high. The others scattered, some activating their engine boosts to send them shooting off away from the oncoming salvos. A few others carried out more sophisticated evasive manoeuvres, barrel-rolling and looping out of the paths of the missiles, even as some of those missiles turned around in mid-air in an attempt to hone in on their assigned targets. Leah watched all this, as did the others, and a few of the missiles that had turned came straight back down to the ground, hitting the lawns nearby and causing brief, thunderous explosions upon impact.

Gunfire sounded out all across the compound as soldiers opened fire. Leah, Jak'Talva and Davam joined in, tracer fire streaking up high at the Banshees above. One of them started releasing a trail of smoke as some important system was hit, and the scout-craft itself started on a downward path towards the hills beyond the compound's northern walls. It hit the side of one rocky hill, exploding on impact, pieces of the Banshee raining down all around. Their numbers whittled down, the remaining Banshees reorganized into a formation and turned back for another pass, seemingly intent on causing as much damage as possible, their pilots likely well aware of how outmatched they were.

The automated turrets opened fire again. Missiles blasted up high, while a pair of the Banshees let fly with their fuel rod cannons. One of the sizzling green blasts hit one of the automated missile platforms, and the whole thing exploded with a deafening roar, fire rushing up in a growing column as the missiles that had been loaded within all detonated. The concussive force of the explosion was enough to knock Leah back slightly, even within the dug-out. Another one of the fuel rod blasts hit the ground nearby, and both Jak'Talva and Davam were sent into the dirt by the force of the explosion. Two of the soldiers nearby were sent flying, their bodies smouldering from the intense heat the impact radiated, and Leah felt some of it herself as she threw herself into the dirt, receiving a sizeable rain of it upon her.

As the trio rose to their feet, the cruiser itself had appeared over the northern hills, seemingly parking itself there before the gravity lift at the centre of its underbelly activated. Behind Leah, the mansion itself caught several hits from the Banshees, windows shattering and walls exploding. She could only wonder if Accord was in there somewhere, and if he was safe. Better yet, if he was in any position to escape the Colonel's custody. If he did that, then her next course of action would be much simpler. For now, she would fight to protect the people of Thrace, as it was the right thing to do.

The cruiser cast its shadow across the compound and the surrounding hills. From the hangar emerged one of the U-shaped 'Spirit' drop-ships, and it moved straight for the compound, touching down on the northern edge before its side doors opened and several Sangheili, Kig-Yar and Unggoy troopers emerged. It was not the only drop-ship to appear, as another landed on the eastern edge and deposited a similar complement of soldiers. They must have been aware of Accord's presence, if they were dropping soldiers into the compound, as it would have been simple for the cruiser above to completely destroy the area. They were after something, and Leah had no intention of allowing the Covenant to get their hands on the Forerunner.

The human defenders opened fire at the alien forces as they scattered and began to advance. Leah moved out of the dug-out, making her way across the mostly open garden area as plasma bolts and tracer fire zipped across it. Behind her, Davam followed, with a fairly reluctant Jak'Talva doing the same. Leah had an idea in her head, one that only a Spartan would devise with the confidence of pulling it off. With the nuke at her back, attached to the jump-pack, she saw her opportunity and she moved ahead, fully intent to make it count. Had she been wearing her MJOLNIR armour, she would have been able to move with somewhat more confidence. As it stood, she darted from cover to cover, keeping low as enemy fire swept past her. Ducking behind a large porcelain pot, she took a moment to guess at the distance between her and the cruiser.

There were a number of alien soldiers between her and the Covenant cruiser, and they would likely be gunning for her if she exposed herself and attempted a flight to the cruiser itself. Still, her options here were few, and Carson's soldiers were not likely to hold out for much longer. Even now, a significant number of them had been mowed down, mainly by the Banshees, only a few of which swirled around high above. They laid fire onto the mansion itself, chipping away at the reinforced brickwork and concrete, blowing out windows and tearing chunks into the building itself. Still, the cruiser was a more pressing matter.

"What's your plan?" Jak'Talva was the one to ask this, as he ducked behind the stone partition with her. Leah looked at him, and then at Davam who rushed into cover on her left, taking shots at the approaching Covenant soldiers up ahead. Plasma fire came their way in return, the energy bolts chipping away at the bricks. Leah kept her head down, surveying the scene of destruction behind them. Dead soldiers and smouldering craters littered the mansion grounds. Colonel Carson was nowhere in sight, although it was reasonable to assume that he was commanding his soldiers from some kind of operations centre somewhere.

"My plan?" Leah peeked over the short wall. If she was to get within optimal range with the admittedly old and obsolete jump-pack she had acquired from the Colonel's armoury, she would need to get at least to the foot of the hills beyond the northern wall. A chunk of that wall had been brought down, and the Covenant soldiers had poured in, mowing down the few soldiers who had taken up defensive positions there.

"My plan is to shoot my way to that cruiser," Leah replied. "I'll need the two of you to cover me. Lay down fire, and don't let up until I'm past that wall."

"Hardly seems like a plan," Jak'Talva commented.

"Make yourself useful, birdman." Leah narrowed her eyes at the Skirmisher. His generally sour attitude was one she had grown weary of. "When I tell you, you start shooting. Draw their fire while I make a run for the cruiser. Surely you know what 'covering fire' is?" Leah was not terribly confident in her plan, but it was a necessary one. She had to get close enough to the cruiser to try and get on board.

Behind them, she saw a Spirit drop-ship touchdown on the roof of the mansion. It hovered only half a metre above a Pelican landing pad, and its doors opened to deposit its complement of soldiers directly upon the mansion itself. If Accord was in there, he was about to have company. Leah knew he could look after himself, yet even with that in mind she felt a degree of concern. It was made all the more so by the fact that she was well on the other side of the compound, about to run straight into the hornet's nest.

"On my go," Leah said. Davam nodded in acknowledgement. The veteran Ranger was keen to assist, whatever fugue he had fallen into in the prison cell having faded, replaced with a sense of purpose. He wanted to get back at the Sangheili who lead these Covenant soldiers, and helping Leah was one way to do just that.

Leah turned around, peering over the short stone wall. A handful of Sangheili, accompanied by several Grunts, were up ahead. They were advancing systematically, with one part of the group covering the other. Some of Carson's soldiers were nearby, and they exchanged fire with the encroaching enemies, taking down some of the Grunts before being forced back into cover. Leah figured then that now was as good a time as any. She felt her uncertainties fade, replaced with that level-headed battle fever that she was all too familiar with.

"Cover me," Leah ordered, and with that she vaulted over the short wall and started straight at the enemy soldiers.


	26. Cruiser

**Cruiser**

Accord had been left in the dining room when the attack had started. He heard it all, the shooting, the shouts and the explosions, and they came very near to where he was, which was seated in a fairly open room with large windows at one side that looked out upon the large mansion grounds. As such, he was on his feet quickly, downing what water had been left, before trying the doors at either end of the room in an effort to free himself. Naturally, they were locked tight, and he thumped against one of them with his shoulder, hearing the hinges creak under the force of his impact. If there had been guards on the other side, they had rushed off to meet the alien attack, leaving Accord alone.

Thumping against the door again and again, the flimsy wooden thing finally gave way, the hinges tearing away from the wall and taking several larges splinters of wood with them. Stumbling out into the hallway, Accord felt the entire building shake as something exploded into it. The windows of the dining room shattered as a hail of blue-white plasma bolts shot inside, tearing up the dining room itself, blasting holes through the table and burning the carpet. Accord turned and started down the corridor, unsure of exactly where he should be going. Outside seemed like a bad idea, given the fighting that had broken out, yet staying inside was unlikely to work out for him either. He needed a weapon, and he needed to get as far away from here as he could. Finding Leah was first on his mind, and he had seen where Carson's people had taken her and the others.

Accord came to another window at the end of the corridor. Here, he looked out upon the rapidly developing battlefield outside, where Carson's soldiers had engaged not only Covenant scout-craft, but also a number of ground troops who had been deposited on the edges of the compound. The Covenant cruiser had situated itself over the hills beyond the northern wall, a hulking sleekly-curved purple monstrosity that blotted out the sun over much of the compound. Accord ducked as a stray plasma beam shot into the window, passing him by mere inches as a shower of glass rained upon him.

He heard engines then, plasma-based ones at that judging from the sound. They were coming from somewhere above, and it occurred to him that the Covenant was landing more of its soldiers on the roof of the mansion. This seemed like a sign for him to get out of the building, no matter what else might be waiting for him outside. It did not take long for something to explode somewhere on the upper floor, presumably the way inside as the soldiers on the roof started to work their way into the building.

Accord started back down the corridor, heading for a set of stairs. As he neared them, a pair of Carson's soldiers appeared, rushing around a corner. Both carried rifles, and both stopped in surprise at the sight of the Forerunner. Neither seemed sure of how to react at first, until one of them raised his gun and pointed the barrel in Accord's face. The Forerunner reacted instinctively, batting the rifle away before he reached out and grabbed the soldier by the neck. With his superior strength, Accord was able to throw this soldier into the nearby wall. The impact was hard enough to knock the man out cold, and his unconscious body landed upon a small wooden table that collapsed under his weight as he went down.

The other soldier fired a shot, but not before Accord had grabbed his rifle-wielding arm, throwing the man's aim wide and sending the bullet into a framed painting of a seaside town. Accord punched the human soldier in the gut, winding him, before he yanked the rifle out of his grip. The soldier stumbled backwards a few steps before Accord sent the butt-end of the rifle into his head, hard enough to send him falling to the floor, mostly unconscious.

With those two soldiers down, Accord turned the rifle around and continued towards the stairwell. Above, he heard a _crash_ as someone forced open a door. A Covenant Sangheili in blue armour appeared at the top of the stairs, and almost immediately it sighted Accord. It barked something in its native, guttural tongue and Accord, upon seeing this alien, started rushing down the stairs. Behind him, he heard multiple sets of footsteps charging after him, though none fired their weapons. They must have wanted him alive, something he should have expected. It seemed likely that the Covenant had come here expressly to apprehend him. Somehow, they had worked out that he was here. It would not have been difficult to adjust the sensors on a sophisticated enough ship to pick out individual life-signs, and in turn, pick out any that were different. As the only Forerunner on Thrace (and in the galaxy, for that matter), Accord would have been relatively easy to detect. Still, they had to catch him, and Accord had no desire to let himself fall into the hands of a bunch of religiously zealous aliens. What he had been told about the Covenant suggested that staying out of their hands was the preferable choice.

Accord came down to the ground floor, entering the front lobby. Here, there were about half a dozen of Carson's soldiers. They had set up barricades and the like at the door leading into the mansion grounds. A few of them turned to watch Accord as he entered, and right away they had their weapons trained on him as he entered the room. Behind the Forerunner came the Covenant squad, and as they came rushing down the stairs, Accord realised that he was caught between both sides.

Throwing himself to the floor, the first of Carson's soldiers opened fire at the Sangheili who came down the stairs first, cutting him down in a hail of bullets. As the hail continued, zipping over Accord, he began to roll to one side, working his way to an adjoining room. More of the Covenant soldiers poured into the room, and Carson's troops turned to face them. The whole lobby became a warzone, filled with the deafening cacophony of combined weapons fire. Walls and carpet were ripped to shreds by stray bullets, and the handful of Grunts who poured down the stairs were cut down in a swathe of automatic rifle fire. Fluorescent blue blood splattered across the floor and walls, and the Grunts themselves were quickly followed by a pair of red-armoured Sangheili who made it through under the hail as their personal shields absorbed the brunt of the attack.

Accord rose to his feet as soon as he had crawled into the adjoining room. While the fighting continued in the lobby, Accord took the opportunity to collect himself as he gazed about the room he was in. It was some kind of display area, filled with glass cases containing antique firearms. Some looked decidedly old, their mechanisms crude and rudimentary, likely to explode in the user's hands rather than fire their rounds. Some others, however, looked little different to what the human soldiers were using today. Accord got the impression that Carson was a collector, which did not surprise him. A man so intent on gathering arms to defend his planet was likely to have an affinity for weapons in general, and as a soldier Accord could appreciate some of the craftsmanship that had gone into some of the older weapons on display. For a moment, he stopped by one of the display cases, looking at the wooden-stocked rifle within. Bolt-action, with a mostly black metal mechanism.

Accord turned his attention back to the battle raging outside. He had to get out of here, yet doing so was going to put him directly in the thick of it. He needed to find Leah, and she was most likely outside somewhere, doing her part to defend the compound. She would not leave him behind if she had a choice, just as much as Accord would never consider abandoning her.

Accord raised his rifle towards one of the windows and fired, the few bullets enough to shatter the entire thing. With this done, he climbed over the bottom of the window-frame and dropped to the lawn outside. The heat out here hit him immediately, and he could already feel the sweat begin to build on his skin. Had he been in his armour, it would have provided proper temperature control to ensure that he was comfortable regardless of the environment. Without such a luxury, Accord had quickly come to despise this planet's climate, with its near constant heat. Such temperatures were made all the worse by the fact that he was in the middle of a warzone, with bullets and plasma bolts zipping across the mansion grounds.

His eyes went to the concrete bunker at the far corner of the compound, the place where Leah and the others had been taken. He would start his search there, and with that in mind, he began walking into the fighting, keeping low and moving between what little cover there was. Most of the soldiers out here paid him little attention, more focused on their Covenant enemies as they poured into the compound.

A volley of plasma bolts struck a potted plant on his right as he moved, shattering part of it and spilling dirt. Accord's eyes went to the Sangheili up ahead who had fired the shots, a red-armoured one who was leading a squad of the much smaller Grunts. They were moving towards him, having eliminated a guard-post where about four human defenders had taken positions before being reduced to smouldering, blast-marked corpses. Accord worked the trigger on the semiautomatic rifle rapidly, feeling it shake lightly in his powerful grip as he hammered the Sangheili with bullets. The alien flinched and its shield failed, allowing three of the bullets to punch through its chest. This was enough to send it falling, and it landed in a heap on the ground with dark purple blood pooling around it. As for the Grunts, they scattered, some shouting in fear upon seeing their much larger leader go down. Accord moved forwards, shooting each of the diminutive aliens in turn, his actions automatic as he mowed down the lot of them. The rifle's magazine clicked on empty after shooting the last one, and without any spares he dropped the weapon and moved over to the fallen plasma rifle that the dead Sangheili had dropped.

There was some commotion at the far wall, where part of it had been taken down. He glimpsed a Skirmisher, Jak'Talva to be exact, and from this distance he could make out the burly form of Davam as the pair opened fire from behind a short brick wall. That was when Accord saw Leah, some kind of heavy metal pack on her back, as she rushed for the perimeter wall with speed that no ordinary human would have been capable of. Accord made his way ahead quickly, stray plasma fire working its way by him, causing him to duck. Elsewhere, the human defenders had begun to fall back, scattered as they were, and another of the automated missile turrets exploded as a Covenant Banshee landed a direct hit upon it. Accord could see right away that Leah was heading straight for the enemy, and he began to pick up his pace upon seeing this. She moved with purpose, and he could only assume it had to do with whatever she was carrying at her back.

* * *

Leah ran with purpose indeed. Behind her, Jak'Talva and Davam fired on the enemy continuously, a shower of rifle rounds and shotgun pellets hammering the Covenant positions. Leah vaulted over another wall, landing only metres from where a Sangheili had taken cover. She raised her rifle and let fly with a rapid volley that overloaded the alien's shields, before he turned around to face her only to receive a further bullet in the face. Half of his quadruple-hinged jaw disappeared in a sizeable eruption of dark purple blood, and the alien fell to the ground gargling as it struggled to breathe around the bullet that had become lodged in its neck.

Leah kept moving. Beyond the wall now, her booted feet crunched along the rough gravel and sand. The hills ahead were not steep and easily traversable by foot, not that it would matter much in a minute. Like most Spartans, she had been trained in the use of jet-packs, although the one she wore was an older and less reliable model that had likely not seen any use in years. She was taking a gamble, but short of somehow hijacking a Banshee she had little other way into the cruiser.

A plasma repeater up ahead fired her way, and she dived forwards, landing behind a sizeable boulder at the foot of one of the hills. A Sangheili in white armour was further up, laying down the fire. Leah did not like halting, not right now, as all it did was give the other Covenant soldiers in the area an opportunity to get around her. Still, she was not quite within the optimum range for her jet-pack, yet she was pinned down by an enemy at a much higher vantage point. It was the kind of situation one usually sought to avoid, as fighting uphill was one way to take casualties. Leah weighed her options, looking about her at the scattered Covenant forces, their attention diverted for now as the human defenders past the ruined wall, along with Jak'Talva and Davam, kept them preoccupied.

"It's now or never," she muttered. Rising to her feet, and keeping herself behind the boulder, she activated the jet-pack with one hand on its controls, which were extended around her left arm. The engines kicked into life straight away, sputtering at first, sending out a roar that echoed across the open desert. It was one sure-fire way to get unwanted attention, but Leah had committed and she could not back out. Not when she felt her feet leave the ground, and the full force of the jet-pack's engines became apparent.

Soaring upwards, Leah turned her attention to the Sangheili on the hill. His weapons fire followed her, albeit trailing behind her somewhat as he attempted to adjust his aim. Leah shouldered her rifle with one hand, keeping the other on the controls for the jetpack, before opening fire on the Sangheili in white armour. It took several rounds, but it was easy enough to land them all from high above him. The alien rolled to one side, and a quick adjustment to Leah's aim was enough to force the alien's shields to fail under the onslaught. With that done, the next bullet pierced the armour at his chest, knocking him backwards.

Leah's rifle was empty after that. She kept her other hand on the controls as she soared towards the hulking purple form of the cruiser above, guiding herself to one side of the ship as she directed the jetpack towards one of the hangars. Travelling like she was, the cruiser's shields did not stop her. As she neared the hangar's opening, she could hear the engines on her jetpack struggling, sputtering again as the older model began to finally give out. Rising just high enough to see inside the hangar, she dropped her rifle and freed her hands, killing the engines on the jetpack as she launched herself forwards.

Grasping the edge of the hangar entrance, her hands going through the atmospheric shield, she hoisted herself up with ease, despite the weight on her back. Such were the benefits of being augmented for strength and speed. Throwing herself into the hangar, she straightened up and pulled her pistol from the holster at her waist. It was another older and rugged type of gun, a precursor to the M6D she had often used in service of the UNSC. Ahead, she saw a group of Sangheili in purple armour, Special Operations sorts, and they were all entering Banshees. Some took off as she watched, screaming out of the hangar to join the battle below. One was of a deep red colour, as if the pilot had opted for a customised paintjob. As they took off and left, Leah raced ahead, going deeper into the hangar.

She could just as easily drop the nuke here, but she had to be sure none of the Covenant soldiers would get hold of it. They could throw it off the ship, getting it beyond the shields and vaporising the city outside. She had to be sure they had no chance to do anything of the kind.

She ducked behind a bunch of purple metal crates and took the warhead from where it was attached to the jump-jets at her back. Turning it around to find the control panel, she tapped in the code Carson had provided that activated the bomb. With red lights now flashing on the display, she could be sure that the weapon was armed and ready to go off. All she needed now was to work out how long it should be before it did just that, and after a moment's thought on the matter she tapped in the command for one minute. Pausing for a moment, her finger floating over the 'Affirmative' button, she considered making it longer but in the end decided not to. No, she had to make this quick and clean, and she had to make sure no Covenant soldiers had the time to find it.

Popping open the nearest crate, she found it full of spare drop-ship parts. The crate itself was light enough to be pushed, so with an idea forming in her head she pulled out what she could before stuffing the warhead inside. With that done, she finally pressed the blinking green button on the warhead's display, and the timer began to count down. 01:00, 00:59, 00:58…

She began to count it down in her head, as she put a hand to the crate and began to push it along. Ahead, the remaining trio of Spec Ops Sangheili turned their heads upon hearing the screeching, grinding noise of the metal crate sliding across the metal floor. With her pistol in her other hand, Leah opened fire over the top of the crate. The three Sangheili scattered into cover amongst the parked Banshees and crates. Pushing it further and further along, Leah fired off her pistol's magazine before she slammed the crate up against one of the Banshees.

The Sangheili Spec Ops returned fire, plasma bolts striking against the crate in front of her. The metal it was made out of seemed to hold up well, so she did not need to worry about any somehow burning through to the warhead inside.

 _00:41, 00:40, 00:39…_

Leah turned and began to run. She weaved around the scattered crates and parked Banshees, plasma bolts zipping by her. She zig-zagged to throw off the aim of her enemies, made somewhat simpler by the slower moving plasma. Bullets, on the other hand, would have been significantly harder to avoid.

 _00:30, 00:29, 00:28…_

She came to the atmospheric force field over the hangar opening, which was designed to keep the breathable air inside when the ship was in the vacuum of space. Looking down, she was surprised at how high she was, the hills below seemingly much lower than she had expected them to be. Glancing at the display on the jetpack's controls at her left, she saw that something red was flashing. One of the engines was malfunctioning, leaving her with only one. That was hardly going to cut it flying out of here, but she had no time to contemplate other options.

 _00:19, 00:18, 00:17…_

As the Spec Ops Sangheili began to advance, Leah took a breath and threw herself forwards. She passed through the force field with a tingle crossing her body, before she was free-falling out of the ship. If anything went wrong now, she would die, smashed up on the rocky hills below. A hardly fitting end for a Spartan. Perhaps she should have hijacked a Banshee? There was no point thinking about it now. Once again, she had committed.

 _00:09, 00:08, 00:07…_

Halfway down, she activated the jetpack's one good engine. Her fall slowed right away, yet even the one good engine was beginning to sputter like a dying man. She tapped the engine controls instead, giving herself only brief bursts of momentum as she fell, slowing her fall enough to ensure she would not die on the landing. The ground below rushed up to her at a startling rate, and as her mental countdown concluded, she braced herself for the imminent detonation.

 _00:02, 00:01…_

There was a rumble from above her, as her feet hit the rocky ground. She stumbled upon her landing, her speed still a little fast for a gentle touchdown. Landing on her side, she looked up at the cruiser, watching as white-hot blue lines appeared throughout its hull, spreading across the centre of the vessel, having started with the hangar. A brilliant white flash erupted from the side of the cruiser, and Leah covered her eyes as the nuclear flare filled the sky above. The entire middle-section of the cruiser vanished, the ship's shield containing the immediate detonation before it failed. Even so, the explosion that was felt across the desert was unlike anything Leah herself had personally experienced, and she felt the concussive wave wash over her with enough force to propel her along the ground several metres, smashing her into a boulder. That impact was enough to knock the wind out of her and break panels off of her jetpack, with sand all around being kicked up and raised as the wave covered the desert and swept into town within seconds. Windows shattered all across the city for the second time in as many days.

The cruiser above had been torn into two halves, both of which began to fall from their perch in the sky. Leah, catching her breath, watched as the first struck the desert well beyond the hills, kicking up a massive cloud of sand as it touched down, tearing a trench through the desert plains in its wake. The second half, the forward section of the ship, drifted some distance before it landed on the edge of the town, wiping out several small buildings before it came to rest, dust flowing out from the impact and sweeping through the streets. Leah watched this all, unsure of whether she should be satisfied or not. She had just destroyed a Covenant cruiser after all, something that not too many people got to do.

Working off the jetpack, she remained on the ground for a minute longer, gathering her bearings. Her body ached from the tumble on landing, and her bare hands had been grazed on top of that. Blood trickled from a slight cut on her forehead, but otherwise she was mostly unharmed. What did surprise her was the burly figure who appeared over her, back against the sun, casting light around him.

"Leah?" She recognized the voice. Looking up, squinting against the sunlight, she saw Accord's face. He looked unharmed, and there was visible worry in his eyes.

"Huh. You're here." Leah could hardly think of anything else to say. Accord reached out one hand and she took it, allowing him to help her up. Nearby, Davam and Jak'Talva approached, both somewhat dirty from the fighting but otherwise unscathed. Leah's eyes met with Accord's, and she let out a sigh of relief. He was alive, she was alive. She could not have hoped for a better outcome.

"That was truly something," Jak'Talva said, visibly impressed. "Single-handedly destroying a cruiser. Is that something you Spartans do all the time?"

Leah ignored him. Instead, her attention was focused on Accord. With him here now, they could get back to finding a way off of this planet.

"We need a vehicle," she said.

"You have a plan?" Accord asked.

"No, not really."

The scream of a Banshee's engine became audible then, and it grew in volume as the Covenant scout-craft neared. Leah looked up, seeing it flying from the west. It was the crimson painted one from earlier, and it was heading straight towards them with obvious intent to open fire. A look of recognition crossed Davam's face then, and he raised his rifle.

"That's him!" The Sangheili yelled, anger lacing his deep voice. "That's 'Sraom!"


	27. Vengeance is Mine

**Vengeance is Mine**

Things had taken an unexpected turn for Baron 'Sraom. The humans had put up a much better defence than expected, and not only that, but one of their 'demons' had somehow planted a bomb aboard the cruiser, a bomb that had obliterated it from within. Even now, smoke poured from the two remaining thirds of the ship, the front and rear ends, as they came to rest on the desert on the edge of the town. The Baron surveyed all of this from high above, leading four other Banshees into the battle raging on the ground. By now it had started to diminish, as the human defenders were reinforced and his attack squads met with far more organized resistance now that the element of surprise had been lost.

Everything had gone badly. He now had no ship to get him off-world. As for finding the Forerunner, the sensors on his Banshee had been keyed into the unique life sign, and they directed him to a group on the hillside below, the Forerunner mingling with an unusually disparate group consisting of a human, a Sangheili and a T'Vaon Kig-Yar. It did not matter, of course; the Baron's goal was simple, and he intended to see it through to the end. With his cruiser gone and his anger well on the rise, the Baron considered killing the Forerunner. It would simplify matters a great deal and prevent any of his enemies from gaining whatever knowledge the alien might have known.

As he directed his Banshee on an approach to the group, they seemed to become aware of his presence. Their weapons were up and firing, and bullets zipped by the fast-moving craft as he aimed its plasma cannons accordingly. As for his wingmen, they followed his lead, and soon all five Banshees were pounding the hillside.

* * *

Leah might have preferred a short reprieve after taking down a Covenant cruiser and almost falling to her death, not to mention the very real possibility that she could have been vaporised in the explosion. However, that was unlikely to happen, least of all with a squadron of Banshees railing on them from high above. Plasma bolts hit the ground near her and the others, and the group scattered amongst the rocks as pieces of them were blown away by the withering hail of energy weapons fire. Leah had her pistol and little else, and she had to quickly reload it as the lead Banshee shot overhead. The others broke into two groups and began to circle around, moving into position for another run.

"The armoury," Accord said. "Where is it?" He had crouched behind the same boulder as Leah, and he seemed dissatisfied with the rifle he had found. Primarily because he had run out of ammunition for it, and for a hardened soldier such as him having no weapon in a battle was a very real cause of frustration. Leah looked back down the hill, towards the compound, which was smoking in parts and was still being skirted by the exchange of weapons fire. She pointed in the direction of the small concrete bunker, not far from the one that she and the others had spent a short while locked up in.

"Then that's our objective." Accord sounded sure of this, and Leah could see his logic. They had to get away from here before Carson's people got organized and rid themselves of the Covenant soldiers. And to increase their chances of a successful escape, they would need guns. Lots of them, preferably.

Nearby, Davam fired his rifle determinedly at the red Banshee as it zoomed away. Rounds pinged off of its armour, but otherwise did little more. The other Banshees swept plasma fire over the hill, causing the Sangheili Ranger to crouch amongst the rocks to avoid the brunt of it. Jak'Talva was only a short distance away, fiddling with his weapon. He was out of ammunition as well, and with a resigned sigh he threw the shotgun aside and turned to the others.

"Any ideas?" He asked.

Leah motioned towards the bunker. It was a fair run away, and it would mean crossing the open, but at the moment their choices were slim.

"Follow my lead," she said. Looking up, she watched as the squad of Banshees spread out, putting some distance between themselves and the hill in preparation for another strafing run. This seemed as good an opportunity as any, and without hesitation she ran out of cover and started rushing back to the compound. Accord followed her, as did Davam. Jak'Talva looked at the running trio for a moment and considered his own options, only for a second glance at the approaching Banshees to convince him to follow. He stumbled as one of the Banshees shot a swathe across the ground in front of him, close enough for dirt to spray up onto his legs and for him to feel the heat of the plasma fire. Nonetheless, the group pressed on, plasma bolts striking the ground near them as they moved.

Even Leah could feel her heart pounding as she came to the partially ruined wall. Taking a look around through one of the destroyed sections, she saw that the path immediately ahead was mostly clear. It was the Banshees up above that had diverted the attentions of Carson's soldiers, and more of his people seemed to be flowing into the mansion grounds even now. Reinforcements from elsewhere in town, Leah surmised, which meant that sooner or later the Colonel and his people would have the situation well under their control. There were not many of the Covenant soldiers left from what Leah could see, and those that remained were very much on the ropes. They would not retreat, but they would get trapped.

With Accord and the others behind her, she started into the crater-marked mansion grounds, where the previously lush green lawns had been mostly reduced to blackened, cratered stretches of land. Spot fires burned here and there, and bloodied and even charred human and alien bodies were scattered around. Even now, Leah could pick up on the scent of burning flesh, the result of plasma burns and plain old fire.

Above, the lead Banshee came swooping down, laying fire upon the group as they crossed one of the lawns. Davam stopped in his tracks and swivelled around to meet the Banshee head on, working the trigger on his rifle rapidly, pounding bullets into the armour to such an extent that something important broke. Smoke poured from the engine and the Banshee broke off from its strafing run, and instead opted to circle around while the subordinates in the other Banshees came swooping down.

Leah reached the entrance of the small bunker, finding it unguarded. The guard who had been present here lay dead on the floor just inside, and a lone Kig-Yar marksman had met his end a few paces beyond. Leah stepped over the alien's body and the pool of dark purple blood that had gathered around it and made her way into the armoury's interior. It was a garage of sorts, and a pair of armoured Warthogs were present in here, each pointed towards a large automatic door. Cabinets and racks of guns and the like were up against every wall, some of them noticeably empty since the start of the battle.

Accord and Jak'Talva rushed inside, while Davam stopped at the doorway and continued shooting up at the Banshees. He ducked as plasma fire struck the top of the doorway, causing a small shower of concrete chunks.

"I think he's coming down," Davam declared. He sounded almost pleased, and Leah realised that he was referring to the Banshee he had damaged. The one that apparently contained his mortal enemy.

"We're going to need more firepower." Leah took one of the battle rifles from a rack nearby, and she promptly snatched up several magazines for it. Jak'Talva, meanwhile, went for something a bit more extreme, his clawed hands working their way around one of the two rocket launchers that were sitting on a rack at the wall a few paces from Leah. They were older, single-loading models compared to the UNSC-made ones that Leah was familiar with, but they would have been more than capable of taking down armoured targets. Jak'Talva cheerfully loaded a missile inside the tube, and he took a few spares with him that he clipped onto a belt that had been placed with the weapons themselves. With that done, he wrapped the belt around his waist and tightened it up, before snatching up some of the satchel charges he found on another shelf.

"I would not trust the Skirmisher with explosives," Davam stated. He had a point, but Leah hardly cared at this stage. They needed every edge they could get, and from the look on the Skirmisher's face, it appeared that Jak'Talva had some sort of idea as to what he would do with the items he had picked up.

Leah handed Accord one of the other rifles. He checked it over expertly, as if he had handled such a weapon countless times before. She supposed with the level of weapons expertise he must have had, that he could take any firearm and know almost immediately its intricacies. That, and being a Forerunner must have helped in some regards.

Leah looked over the table before her, at the various odds and ends that Carson's soldiers had left behind. Among them were the keys to the Warthogs, and she took one set before turning to the others. She held them up for all to see, a plan of action forming in her mind as she did so.

"Who wants to drive?"

* * *

Colonel Carson had been organizing the defences from the smaller operations building within the mansion compound. The building itself had taken several hits and there were numerous new 'windows' blasted into the sides, but otherwise the defenders outside had kept the Covenant from getting in. As Carson had suspected, the Covenant had gone after the Forerunner, depositing troops directly on the mansion itself to get to him. Once the cruiser had come down, Carson had emerged with a squad of soldiers following him, and they had gone to check on the status of the Forerunner. Unsurprisingly, he had disappeared, and now, standing near the rear entrance of the mansion, Carson and his squad turned their attention to the bunker containing the chief armoury.

Someone had reported seeing the Forerunner, with the Spartan, enter the structure. Getting to it would be a bit of a problem, given the four or so Banshees zooming around high above. The Covenant forces that remained were intent on continuing the fight, even if the bulk of their people had been vaporised on the cruiser. He directed his squad to fan out, and they advanced whilst firing at the enemy scout-craft overhead. Carson moved with them, striding confidently over the ruined lawns with his pistol in one hand. A Kig-Yar soldier appeared from behind a concrete partition ahead, and Carson immediately gunned the alien down with three well-placed shots to its chest. It was oddly satisfying, hearing the bird-like alien screech as it fell, purple blood splattering on the ground near it. The Colonel had almost forgotten what it was like, to be in the thick of it, fighting the Covenant. The war had been over for years, and Carson had deserted the service a few years prior to the peace treaty. He had always thought that his next fight would be against the UNSC, so in a way it was almost nostalgic to shoot aliens.

As the squad moved forwards, one of the Banshees above exploded suddenly as something important ignited after having several holes shot through it. Pieces of the wreckage came falling down several metres away, the mangled corpse of a purple-armoured Sangheili warrior following it. As Carson's squad continued firing up at the whirling Banshees, another of them came crashing down, blue flame pouring from its engine. Nearing the bunker containing the armoury, Carson and his squad shifted their attention to the building itself.

"Hold here," Carson called out, raising a hand to give the signal to stop. "There's a Spartan in there. You know how dangerous they can be."

Over the din of the surrounding battle, he heard the roar of an engine, subdued as it was. It came from within the bunker, and as he watched the large garage door set into the building exploded forth in a rush of smoke, the result of a satchel charge being detonated upon it. As soon as the door was no more, even before the many pieces of it had hit the ground, a Warthog came blazing through the smoke. There was a noticeably Forerunner-shaped figure in the passenger seat, rifle raised while the Spartan gripped the steering wheel.

Carson ducked as the Warthog went blazing past, the Forerunner firing into the group of soldiers with surprisingly good aim, given how fast they were going. One of the soldiers closest to Carson went down, blood erupting from the hole that was blasted through his head. In the rear seat of the Warthog was the Sangheili and the Skirmisher, the latter of whom had shouldered a rocket launcher and was taking aim at one of the Banshees above.

Carson was stunned for a moment as the Warthog went barrelling towards the ruined northern wall, before rushing through it and heading into the desert. Above, two of the remaining Banshees turned their attention to Carson's squad, whereas the red-painted one went after the fleeing group. A personal vendetta, perhaps? He did not know. What he did know that once business was tied up here, he would prioritise the search for the fleeing group.

* * *

Speeding out of the compound, Leah sent the Warthog tearing out into the desert, planting it on a gravel road that wound its way through the hills on the northern edge of town. Behind them, the red painted Banshee chased after them, the damage it had taken seemingly minor. In the backseat, Jak'Talva tried to turn his launcher to aim at the Banshee, but even if he could get a proper bead on it the back-blast would likely scorch Accord and Leah. It was Davam who kept the fire going, along with Accord, as both of them shifted in their seats to get a line on the pursuing Banshee. Rifle rounds pounded into its armour, some pinging off whilst others became lodged within. Still, the craft kept coming, hosing the road right behind them with plasma fire.

Leah swerved suddenly as the road took a sharp hairpin turn, putting them ahead of the first of the hills. The Banshee zoomed over them, and Jak'Talva seized this opportunity to take aim with the launcher now that the craft was in front of them. Peering through the scope, Leah heard a beeping noise emanating from the launcher's small, in-built computer as it acquired a lock. The beep became a tone, which ceased the second the Skirmisher pulled the trigger.

The rocket rushed forth, leaving in its wake a white, smoky contrail that faded within seconds. The missile shot upwards, trailing after the Banshee as it turned around to open fire once again. The pilot must have seen the missile coming, as he did a barrel roll at the last second, enough to put the missile off of making a direct collision. Instead, it struck one of the Banshee's slim 'wings' where it detonated, sending the scout-craft falling off course, smoke pouring from its mostly wrecked frame.

Leah watched as the Banshee went into a nose-dive, before it plummeted to the ground further ahead to the left of the gravel road. Part of her wanted to keep driving, to put as much distance between them and their enemies as possible, but a strong hand on her shoulder made her stop.

"Let me finish him," Davam said. In other circumstances, she might have kept driving, not at all eager to help a Sangheili warrior fulfil his personal vendetta. However, something made her pull over then. The Banshee was a smoking wreck by the side of the road, yet even as they neared it a large and very Sangheili figure emerged from it.

Leah kept the engine running before she climbed out, taking her rifle with her. Accord and Jak'Talva remained in the vehicle as Davam walked ahead, having left his rifle in the Warthog for now. Instead, he had pulled out a combat knife that he had likely taken from the armoury at Carson's compound, and he clutched it tightly in one hand as he approached the somewhat dazed Sangheili who had emerged from the Banshee. This Sangheili was tall and bulky like most others, outfitted in ornate black armour complete with a flowing cape. Leah had to admit, she had never seen a Sangheili with a cape on before, and the sight might have got a chuckle from her had the situation not been as serious. She could only assume that this Sangheili was Baron 'Sraom, the one whom Davam had been so intent on finding. The one who had killed someone close to him.

'Sraom was mostly unscathed, although his armour had been scorched in places. He turned to face Davam, who approached him with purpose until they were within reach of each other. The Baron did not pull out a weapon, instead he stood his ground and eyed Davam with intent as he came near.

"So, you have come to kill me." The Baron sounded almost amused. "Come to succeed where you failed before."

"You may have attacked my clan on orders from Jul 'Mdama," Davam said, "But what you did, when we met the other day, is something that has given me even more reason to kill you. What you did was the mark of an arrogant man, one who was so sure of his own seeming invincibility."

"What kind of Sangheili are you, when you consort with other races?" The Baron looked past him, to Leah and then to the Skirmisher and the Forerunner in the Warthog. His eyes stopped at Accord, and a look of realisation appeared on his face. "Is that him? Is that the Forerunner I came here to find?"

"Yes, it is." Davam spoke in a level tone. It occurred to Leah that he may very well have been savouring the moment, although if she were in his position she would have probably killed him already. All this grandstanding was typical for the Sangheili, with their notions of honour.

"He could help unite our people…" The Baron began, but Davam put the knife to his neck, causing him to fall silent.

"No. You would unite our people under yourself, because you are delusional enough to think you are fit for such a position. Everything that has driven you to this world, to your mission now, has been purely for your own gain. I should be the one asking _you_ what kind of Sangheili you are." With that, Davam plunged the blade into the Baron's neck, and the Baron in turn reached out and grabbed Davam by the throat with one hand. His grip was tight, despite the blood that rushed out from around the blade, and Davam swept it across the width of his neck slowly, opening a deep gash that severed the major arteries running through there. Even from where she stood, Leah could hear the Baron's gargling sounds as blood poured out of his neck and mouth. Davam pulled the blade free, the Baron's grip on him weakening as the Sangheili took a few steps backwards, hands to his throat in a futile effort to stem the flow of blood. Despite the rate at which his life literally poured out of him, the Baron seemed to cling on for far longer than any other Sangheili Leah had seen take such wounds. She had caused some herself, cutting the necks of unfortunate Sangheili soldiers from behind. They normally went down quickly with such a thing done, but the Baron? He seemed to remain standing for what seemed like minutes, as he steadied himself against a nearby boulder. His eyes bored into Davam, and for a moment Leah thought he might pull a blade on him.

Finally, the Baron fell to his knees, the front of his armour soaked with his own blood. Davam watched him in silence, sheathing the bloodied blade whilst the Baron hit the ground, landing on his side and spilling dark purple blood upon the sand around his head. There was further twitching, before the self-styled 'Baron' finally ceased moving.

"Come on," Leah called. Davam turned to her and nodded his head in acknowledgement. He started to walk back for the Warthog, but Leah stopped him by placing a hand to his shoulder. An unusually gentle move for a Spartan to do to a Sangheili, yet a genuine one at that.

"Who did he kill?" She asked him. "The one you mentioned. The one that was close to you?"

Davam narrowed his emerald green eyes, and he glanced back at the Baron's corpse before returning his gaze to her.

"My son," Davam replied solemnly, before he continued walking. He climbed back into the Warthog without saying anything further, and Leah figured it best to keep her own questions to a minimum as well. She jogged back to the Warthog and took her position in the driver's seat, before she set the vehicle into 'drive' and sent it charging down the desert road once again. Behind them, the wreckage of the Covenant cruiser plumed smoke high over the town of Deckar's Stand, and the afternoon sun blazed down upon the desert all round.

* * *

ONI had delivered reinforcements, which was both a blessing and a curse for Commander Laura Boone. A blessing, because she had had very few personnel at her disposal to begin with, and the situation on Thrace had since gone so out of hand as to warrant the additional help. A curse, because it was a red flag to those higher-up in ONI that she had been incapable of keeping the situation in hand in the first place, and if she made any further stuff-ups she was likely to receive an unremarkable reassignment to some far flung, backwater part of UNSC space.

The additional personnel had arrived in a trio of Pelicans about an hour ago, landing in the opening clearing around the old weather station. Scores of ONI commandoes with several armoured Warthogs at their disposal comprised the majority of these reinforcements, and to Boone it was likely she would need to put a great many of them to use, given the situation. A Forerunner was on the loose for one, and a Spartan-II had gone rogue. Both situations were almost unheard of, so Boone thought that maybe she could be forgiven for any missteps because of just how unusual things were. She could only wonder if her superiors would feel the same way.

She was in the operations room of the old weather station, looking over the reports coming in on the local channels of the battle that had broken out on the northern outskirts of Deckar's Stand. This was interesting in itself, as that was roughly where Colonel Carson had put his centre of government, utilising an elaborate mansion as both a home for himself, and a presidential palace of sorts. The compound around it had been expanded upon by the Colonel's people during recent years, although from what Boone could gather it had become the site for a heated ground battle between Covenant forces and the Colonel's own local military.

Spartan Eric entered the room at that point. He was still in full armour, although as he walked inside he pulled his helmet off, revealing the slightly sweat-slicked and stern face underneath.

"Commander," he said, causing Boone to turn to face him.

"I heard what happened," Boone said, before the Spartan could say anything more. "We wasted a good chunk of our original personnel on that raid."

"Carson and his people were there," Eric replied. "They took Leah and the Forerunner. I took a shot at Leah, but it wasn't a kill." He sounded disappointed. Boone, on the other hand, simply shook her head.

"Shit happens," she stated. "The sooner you accept that, the easier things become."

"What now?" Eric asked. He looked past her at the display on the wall behind her. A real-time map of Deckar's Stand, which was updated according to reports intercepted about the battle.

"What now?" Boone gave a light shrug of her shoulders. "We find the Forerunner. We find Leah. I suspect that the Spartan had a hand in the destruction of a Covenant cruiser, the wreck of which is now lying on the northern outskirts of the town." There was no doubt in her mind that Leah was responsible for that. Who else but a Spartan would be able to take down a Covenant cruiser single-handedly? It certainly had not been Carson's people, most of whom were glorified militia. The Colonel did not have the heavy weaponry at his disposal that could bring down a cruiser from the outside, so it was apparent that someone had got on board and set off a bomb. A tried-and-true tactic, albeit a near suicidal one. Still, Leah had probably survived, knowing her and her history of surviving things most others did not. It was part of the reason she had lived as long as she had, when so many other Spartan-IIs had long since died, mostly in battle and mostly doing suicide missions.

"That would be her handiwork, for sure," Eric said. "I can take a team there, maybe try and pinpoint her location…"

"That won't be necessary. I have some of our specialists working on a way of tracking her, and the Forerunner. It'll simply take time to perfect." Boone had thought ahead, as was required in her line of work. "Leah has no transponder, as it was removed prior to her assignment here. There was simply too much risk of the insurrectionists hacking into that signal. As for the Forerunner, however, I believe we could fix our scanners such that they can hone in on his less-than-common life signature, but even that will take some time." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Of course, the one thing we have is time, whereas Leah and her Forerunner friend?" She shook her head, and for the first time in recent days she gave a slight grin. "They can't get far. Leah made an enemy of ONI, and you'd think she would have known better."


	28. Memory Lane

_These eyes are blind  
This is a pure thing  
These hands I kiss  
Tragic as anything  
These eyes are blind  
This is a pure thing  
All splash and hiss  
Beyond my measuring  
_-From the song "Faded Flowers", by Shriekback

 **Memory Lane**

Somewhere along the way, Accord made the suggestion of seeing the stasis chamber that had kept him suspended up until recently. Leah had only seen the one room of the underground Forerunner facility, most of which had been a wreck, so the suggestion surprised her, yet at the same time it did not. She should have known that Accord might want to see what he could salvage, if anything, and since he knew the technology within the underground facility he would have far better chances of doing something with the various pieces of long defunct tech. It was decided then, for lack of anything better, that the group would go to the old mining town where the excavation site was located, and there they would both scour the Forerunner facility before organizing their next course of action, whatever that might have been. It was not much of a plan, but it was all they could really do, short of returning to Deckar's Stand and trying to find the means to get off-world there. Their attempts to get Jak'Talva's freighter had failed, and from what the Colonel had told Accord, it seemed that their enemies had anticipated their intentions.

The drive to the mining town was done mostly in silence. It was a fair drive across mostly barren terrain, the gravel roads providing a somewhat rough journey. Jak'Talva had fallen asleep in his chair, his arms crossed and his head down, while Davam gazed quietly out at the surrounding desert. Accord did much the same, and Leah's concentration remained set on the road ahead. The afternoon sun lowered gradually, and by the time they finally arrived at the town the sun was well on its way down, putting them on the verge of late afternoon becoming evening.

Slowly, Leah brought the Warthog into the town itself. The Covenant forces here had cleared out, leaving behind crates and equipment near the tunnel entrance. There were no actual living Covenant here, which was a good thing, as Leah was just about tired of fighting them for today. The town itself was a small collection of ramshackle wooden and brick buildings, all of which together resembled something out of one of those centuries-old Western movies. Despite the deserted nature of the town, the group remained alert, and even Jak'Talva was awake now, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of trouble.

She brought the Warthog to a halt outside an old hotel. There was a well near here, boring deep into an underground deposit of water. This was a good thing, as water was something they were running short on. That, and general food supplies. There was not likely to be much in the way of food around here, but it was worth a look nonetheless.

"We'll take a look around," Leah said, as she stopped the engine. "And we'll take stock of everything inside the hotel." She was the first to climb out of the Warthog, with the others following suit.

"I'm going to find myself a bed to sleep on," Jak'Talva said, as he left the Warthog. "I don't know about anybody else, but I'm tired. It's been a long day, and I'm starving."

He went into the abandoned hotel, with Davam following him inside. Leah went to go in after them, but Accord put a hand to her shoulder, causing her to turn around.

"What is it?" She asked him.

"I want to search the underground chamber." Accord's eyes went down the dusty main street, towards the excavation site. "I might need some help."

"It can't wait, can it?" She smiled at him. Despite her weariness and despite the grimness of the situation, she for once found it within herself to smile.

"I might be able to find something useful," Accord replied. "And I may be able to show you some things that you may be interested in."

Leah nodded her head. Accord lead the way, despite never having really been here before. He had been unconscious that first time, and before that it had been well over one-hundred thousand years in the past. The place had changed substantially since then, this much was obvious. Still, he seemed to know the way, and he took her down into the excavation site without any problems.

The Covenant had cleared out much of the excavation site. A lot of the rubble from inside had been piled up near the entrance, and a computer terminal had been erected that beeped and gurgled frequently, as if attempting to make a connection to some greater network. Leah followed Accord into the tunnel, and he paused for a moment as he entered, as if struck by a sudden memory. He had been here before, many, many years ago. The place had certainly changed, and what had once been jungle had turned to desert, but even then the Forerunner recognised it.

"You said your sister was with you?" Leah asked, as he followed him inside. The tunnel was lit up by lights that had been positioned at intervals throughout, casting yellow glows over what would otherwise have been a deep gloom.

Accord seemed to think about this for an unusually long time, likely recalling his sister and what had happened here during his own time, before he had woken up to a vastly different galaxy to the one he knew.

"Yes, she was," he replied, his voice distant. "I never thought much about the purpose of such a place. I was a soldier, and I followed orders, I did not ask questions. But I have had some time to think, and I know that this facility was used to research advanced stasis technologies. The very thing that saved my life, and kept me suspended for so long. It somehow saved me from the fate that befell the rest of my people."

"Well, if by 'stasis' you mean some kind of suspended animation outside of time and space, then it wouldn't be a stretch to think that something of that kind could save you from the Halo array," Leah said. "I don't think even they could kill something that didn't technically 'exist' in space-time. I'm no scientist, so don't take my word for it."

Accord nodded his head slowly. The explanation made sense to him, even if it was just speculation on Leah's part. The pair entered the main chamber, which was mostly free of rubble now, and Covenant-made equipment littered the place, among them another portable computer terminal that had been connected to one of the defunct Forerunner terminals. Somehow, they had got it working, although the display flickered sporadically as they walked inside.

"The Covenant cleaned the place up," Leah said. She made her way over to the Forerunner terminal, and she tried to make sense of some of the symbols that danced across its flickering display. "I take it you know what this stuff means?"

Accord's eyes went from the opened stasis pod to her, and he walked up alongside her before setting his attention upon the terminal.

"Yes, I do." He reached over for the holographic display, his fingers tapping at some of the keys, causing shifts in the readings that flowed across it. "As I said, experimental stasis technology. The sort that likely never saw the light of day, because it was buried and I along with it." As he read the information on the terminal, a realisation dawned on him then, albeit one he had been suspicious of ever since waking up. "No search party found me, because my life-signs were undetectable. I did not exist, as you put it, within time and space. The stasis chamber put me in a bubble that placed me outside time itself. No easy feat, certainly not for something this small. Only our largest ships would be capable of such a thing, and that was only ever for reconciliation from lengthy slip-space voyages."

"Reconciliation?"

"Moving through slip-space for months at a time can create problems, problems we were able to solve through technology even I do not understand." Accord turned to Leah, wearing his usually stoic expression. It must have been a Forerunner trait, to look so unfazed even when under duress. "I think it is ironic, that so many people now want to capture me for my knowledge, when I myself do not know the things they would likely want to learn."

"Ironic, and dangerous. They've tried to kill us on more than one occasion."

"I believe Colonel Carson wishes me alive. The same for your ONI people."

Leah shook her head. She had made her decision in that regard, and she was not one to dwell on it.

"They're not 'my people', Accord. They never were. Until recently, they were just another assignment."

"You threw your life away for me, Leah. Something I would never have asked of you, nor is it something I can easily return…"

"You don't need to 'return' anything. What we need to do is find our way off of this godforsaken planet. And I'll help you do that without question. The sooner we're out of ONI's reach, the better." Leah was not too confident of her chances, the more she thought about it. ONI were renowned for their 'reach', the sort that made its way even as far as Sangheili space. They had eyes and ears everywhere, although a planet like Thrace was decidedly too backwater for even them to have properly covered. She had learned as much during her time working for them here, as one factor that had affected their operations was their limited surveillance coverage and distinct lack of willing informants. No local here wanted to rat out anyone for ONI, or for the UNSC in general.

"I suspected this place may have been larger," Accord said. "I appear to have been correct."

"Larger?" Leah glanced at the screen, but saw nothing but elaborate alien symbols, some of which she had seen in Forerunner sites in the past. Accord clearly understood it all perfectly. He tapped a few more holographic buttons, and something large and metal clunked from behind them. Part of the wall began to shift, and a sliding door, unopened for over one-hundred thousand years, began to gradually move, shifting dirt as it did. The whole thing groaned in its housing, the mechanisms on the verge of falling apart, but the door finally made it the whole way after about half a minute of grinding. Behind it was a rubble-strewn corridor, and without saying anything further, Accord turned around and started into it.

Leah hurried after him, startled at the way the lights set into the elaborately decorated walls switched on. They were bright white lights, spaced amongst numerous complicated geometric patterns so common to Forerunner architecture. Some of them flickered randomly, as even Forerunner technology was not expected to work properly after one-hundred thousand years. The fact that so much of it was intact after all this time was remarkable, and it was clear that the Forerunners had built things to last, to outlast even themselves. Accord moved with purpose, striding through the corridor, which ended after several metres in another chamber similar to the one they had come from. It was also littered with rubble, onyx chunks and rocks that had fallen from the ceiling during the orbital bombardment that had buried this place.

"What do you hope to find here?" Leah asked. There was a circular set of terminals in the centre of the room, and a set of what she could only assume were sleeping pods at one wall. A living area of sorts, or what would pass for one to the Forerunners, who apparently did not need the comforts of home as their armour would have sustained them. She wondered what that would be like, to have a suit of armour that sustained you in that way. Even her MJOLNIR armour was not capable of something quite that sophisticated, and she had to eat and sleep even when wearing it.

"Nothing that can help us," Accord replied, honest as ever. "But there is something I would like to show you. I think the computers here should allow it." He walked into the central bank of terminals, and his fingers worked deftly at one of them, which in turn brought up a holographic projection. A representation of the planet, albeit one that was over one-hundred thousand years out of date. Here, Thrace was a world of greens and blues, with only patches of desert here and there. Leah had seen plenty of maps of the planet as it was now, and it was practically the reverse. The greens were the small patches, and the browns of the desert covered much of the surface. Hardly a place anyone would want to call home, yet plenty of people did just that. Sometimes she wondered if humans were either adventurous, or stupid. She had seen plenty to suggest both at the same time.

"Step over here, Leah." He motioned to where he was standing, within the circle of computers. "I'd like to show you something."

Leah did as he requested, coming to stand just to his right as he worked the computer terminal. She watched as the out of date holographic representation of Thrace disappeared, and Accord put his hand to a glowing set of controls before him. The white lights flickering about the room seemed to fade, and Leah almost jumped when she saw the entire room around them shift. The walls and floor and ceiling disappeared, replaced with what she could only assume was an entirely different location. Specifically, a mostly grey and blue room with a wide-open balcony ahead, one that looked out onto a sprawling vista of dome-shaped structures of varying sizes and rolling, forested hills. It was certainly not an image of Thrace.

One thing that struck her was the fact that it was no mere image. It was a moving picture of sorts, with the way the trees outside swayed in the wind, and how a flight of exotic alien birds appeared against the orange-purple of the twilight sky, wings flapping occasionally as they glided through the air. Leah was stunned, at least for a few seconds, before she collected herself.

"What is this?" She asked. It was beautiful, she went to add, before she stopped herself. That would likely have been the first time she had said anything was 'beautiful'.

Accord looked to her, and for the first time since she had met him she saw a smile creep upon his face. Such a foreign gesture to him, one that most of his kind had considered a much too 'human' thing to do. Seeing it from him stirred a sensation in her that she had not felt before, and it was not something she was certain on what to make of.

"My home-world," Accord said.

"The Forerunner home-world?"

Accord shook his head.

"One of many colonies," he replied. "This was my home." He had his hand on the large glowing half-sphere, something that Leah noticed. Accord appeared to register her interest. "It's being drawn from my memories. This is what I wanted to show you. Some of the world I knew, before I ended up here. This balcony, and the view, was one I knew for many years. I would often sit out there, maybe read, but often I would simply watch the view. One of the best within the entire city. It's not a view I saw much of, after I came of age."

"How old are you?"

Accord gave the question some thought.

"Discounting the time I spent in stasis, I am one-hundred and twenty-four years old." He seemed to find her reaction to this amusing. "You have to understand, Forerunners are capable of living on for millennia. I am a child compared to some. My father, for instance, was well past three thousand."

"You don't look like a child," Leah commented. No wonder the Forerunners built such long-lasting structures. They _had_ to be long-lasting, since they themselves were long-lasting.

"I'm a first form," Accord replied. "That is, I have been through my first mutation. By your standards, I am an adult, but in the eyes of my elders I am still very young."

"Mutation?"

"A form of ageing, you could call it. I became a Warrior-Servant when I completed my first mutation, making me something suitable for my rate. Before that, I was a Manipular, belonging to no rate in particular. I followed in the footsteps of my parents to become a Warrior-Servant. It was essentially my coming-of-age." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. "Now that I am here, well after my time with little of the technology I know, it is likely I will age at a faster rate. I will probably outlive any human by centuries, but I am unlikely to live to one-thousand." He sounded almost melancholy, as if now he was only just realising what it was he had lost.

"I wish I could live to one-thousand," Leah said, half-jokingly. "Even if I could, most Spartans don't hit the age of fifty. Some only get past half that. For all our training and our enhancements, we have a habit of dying."

"You're still here." Accord looked at her, and their eyes met. "That must mean you are doing something right."

"Accord, I don't do anything 'right'. Not until recently. Before I made that choice for you, I did what I was told, and I didn't question it. There are a lot of things I regret doing, and I've seen so many of my friends die over the years, yet here I am, still alive and kicking. In a way, dying might have been easier, because at least then I wouldn't have to live with the memories I have." She had never said this sort of thing to anyone else before. She had had very few proper friends to tell it to, and even less now that Nolte was dead. Telling it to a Forerunner she had known only for a few days might have been strange, but to her it felt _right_. She needed to tell someone, and Accord seemed like someone who would understand.

"I was trained from the age of seven," Leah continued. "I knew how to shoot someone's head off at a kilometer's distance by the time I was ten. No ordinary human being is put through that kind of thing. A lot of people think what I went through was wrong. And it was, really, when you think about it. Even you had a childhood, judging from this 'Manipular' stuff you mentioned."

"That does sound unusual," Accord said. It was about all he could think to say, regarding the matter.

"Most of my life has been nothing but killing. I've killed people, I've killed aliens, after a while it gets to be all the same. I didn't have a chance to properly develop into a normal person. I can never live a normal life. Maybe that had a part in the things I've done recently, turning against ONI and saving you. Nolte said it best, I think. He said I'd grown a conscience. I guess that makes me a little bit more 'normal' than it used to." She took a breath then, realising that she was rambling. Accord had watched and listened carefully, and she thought she saw some genuine sympathy in those crystal blue eyes of his. "You had a normal life, for your kind."

"Maybe." Accord did not sound too sure of this. He adjusted the controls at the terminal, and something appeared in the scene around them. A Forerunner, albeit a much larger and older looking one, with a set of armour on and a flowing cape behind him. Several smaller, child-sized Forerunners milled about him, and Leah realised that she was looking at a family.

"My brothers and sisters," Accord stated. Leah felt it odd that he was showing her all of this, yet at the same time she was humbled. Accord trusted her enough to do this, as it was unlikely he would do so with simply anyone. Certainly not any human, given the history between their two species. She thought she recognised a much younger looking Accord amongst the group, as they darted around their father. Some carried blunt wooden swords of some design, and the father cheerfully used his own to bat away their playful strikes. Warriors in training, even when they looked to be no older than ten.

"All of them are dead," Accord added, more solemnly. "My parents outlived their children. Some say that should never be the case."

"You must miss them."

"I have many memories of them," Accord replied. "I like to think that they can never be truly dead as long as someone remembers them. Me, for instance. And now, you."

Again, Leah felt that humbling sensation. Never could she have dreamed that she would be standing here right now, with a Forerunner of all things showing her a few choice memories of their lives. Literally showing them to her, in a holographic representation that looked as real as reality itself. The wonders of Forerunner technology, once again apparent.

"What are our chances, Leah?" Accord took his hand away from the glowing half-sphere, and the holographic scene dissipated, revealing the rubble-strewn room around them. Leah looked at her Forerunner companion, startled by the question. He was so blunt, it was both admirable and irritating, all at once.

"If we can get off this planet, they'll be a whole lot better than they are now." Leah figured she should be honest with him. There was no use lying, not when it was clear that he already knew the answer.

"And if we can't?"

"That…" Leah trailed off. She had no answer for him there. "I don't know. With ONI…they will pursue us for as long as we live. We'll never be able to get away from them completely, and even if we find some backwater planet to hide on, chances are they'll show up there eventually, even if it's years later."

"So we can never rest?"

"We'll have plenty of opportunities to rest," Leah replied. "What's probably for the best is if we focus on the now. It's getting late, and I'd like to get some sleep. What about you?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before he nodded his head in agreement. Leah had changed the subject, as deftly as she could. Accord probably realised this, but in good faith he did not bring it up. Thinking too much about their current predicament was likely to sour their moods far too much.

* * *

When they returned to the hotel, they found that Jak'Talva had already fallen asleep on an old couch in the front lobby. The interior was dusty and the wallpaper was peeling, but so far both Jak'Talva and Davam had managed to scrounge up some old supplies. That included some bottles of old liquor, among some canned goods that were likely well past their expiry dates but nonetheless might have been edible anyway. Leah helped herself to some water, and to one of the MREs that had been stashed in the Warthog they had taken from Carson's compound. Other than that, she decided against trying any of the baked beans from the dusty cans that Davam had unearthed. As for the Sangheili, he sat on watch near the front door, his rifle in his lap. He stirred as both Leah and Accord walked in, but upon seeing who they were he relaxed.

"You have returned," he said.

"Keeping guard?" Leah asked. She looked about the mostly dusty lobby, her eyes going to the bar counter at one end. The bottles of old liquor were there, one of which Jak'Talva had apparently helped himself to, as he clasped it in one hand while he snoozed on the couch.

"Of course," Davam replied.

"You could leave, you know." Leah narrowed her eyes, trying to work out what the Sangheili might have been thinking. Their faces were often hard to read, save for when they had a fit of rage. It was obvious in those cases as to what was on their minds. "You don't need to stay with us. Neither does Jak, but I get the impression he hangs around because he's got nowhere else to go."

"I have nowhere to go," Davam said. "One thing the Skirmisher and I have in common. That is, of course, only one part of the reason. The other part? It is because I owe you my life, Leah. And the same goes for Accord. You rescued me from the prison, and even if that did not work out in our favour, our staying together ensured our survival up until now. It would be dishonourable to abandon you all, not when there are tasks to be completed. Accord requires my help, as do you, Spartan Leah." The honesty was clear in his level, almost eloquent, tone. The Sangheili were strange, in the way they could enter a bloodthirsty rage, yet just as easily make themselves sound like Shakespearean actors. "I will stay with you until the end."

"If it comes to that," Accord said.

"Indeed." Davam returned to his watch, and both Leah and Accord made their way past him. Jak'Talva did not stir, he was well and truly asleep, and Leah did not feel like waking him, despite the urge to do it just to annoy him. Instead, she started up the stairs, and found her way to one of the rooms. Like much of the place, it was reduced to the bare minimum, with only a mattress on a frame for a bed and a dusty dresser at one wall. The windows were boarded over and the floorboards creaked underfoot, but it was at least a roof over one's head. That made it better than the kind of accommodations Leah was used to when out in the field.

She realised that Accord had followed her. She turned around to face him, and she noticed the intent look on his face.

"You want to talk?" She asked.

"I thought you might want some company," Accord replied.

Leah smiled at him. Had she been anyone else, she might have caught on to what he was referring to. Instead, she was a Spartan, and the finer social graces often escaped her.

"Like I said, you want to talk?"

Accord stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He regarded her carefully for a moment, and without warning he darted to her, striding those few steps between them quickly with his long and powerful legs. He put a hand to her shoulder, a gentle grip at that, and he looked down into her eyes with his own crystal blue ones.

"After everything you have done for me, Leah, I want to do what I can for you. From what you've told me, you have lived an unusually difficult life. As you said, even I had a childhood, like what you saw in the hologram." Accord tilted his head slightly, an inquiring look to the movement. "You say you have no friends, no family. I would be glad to call you my friend." He paused, and Leah felt her breath hitch in her throat. There was something to the way he was looking at her that stirred something powerful within her, a sensation that had lain dormant for most of her life. "Perhaps more than a friend, if you would allow."

Leah knew what he meant now. It was something that had never really crossed her mind, such as it was with most Spartans. Their enhancements had repressed whatever natural reproductive urges they might have had, although naturally some still remained, and occasionally such things could seep through to the fore under certain circumstances. They could even be reawakened with the proper medication, or simply through sheer concentration. Now, it seemed, they were stirring within the veteran Spartan simply because a Forerunner had a hand on her shoulder. The look in his eyes made his intentions clear, and Leah, normally not one to open herself to anyone, did so for the first time in as long as she could remember.

"I've never…" She trailed off, embarrassed. "You have to understand, it's something I've never thought about. Not much, not since I got enhanced."

"The last thing you should be is ashamed, Leah." Accord took the hand from her shoulder. He then took both her hands into his somewhat larger, six-digited ones, and caressed them gently. "A warrior of your calibre should never feel the need to be embarrassed. You would have made a fine Warrior-Servant. And an excellent wife."

This statement startled Leah. That was about all she could think, until she realised that the Forerunner had put his mouth to hers. A kiss, a gentle, loving one at that, with Accord leading the charge. Uncharacteristically for a Spartan, Leah was anxious, but this was soon alleviated by the soothing presence of the burly Forerunner and his unusually gentle hands as they roamed her frame and worked at the buttons and zips that kept her clothing upon her.

* * *

For the first time, Leah felt at ease. There were no frustrations, no regrets, not now, when it was just the two of them, the feel of his heat against her own, the caresses of his hands and the attentions of his mouth as he admired and took in every inch of her form. He practically worshipped her body, and she his own, running her hands over the iron-hard muscle that covered it, and the peculiar white fuzz that was in patches on his chest and back. A Forerunner thing, she surmised, smiling at the thought.

They took their time, with Accord proving to be every bit as gentle as he was strong. Even when he was inside her, he took it slow, before working her to a frenzy that even he became embroiled in, and they hit their peak together.

They made the most of the time they had, all the more so as tomorrow may very well have been their last. By the end of it, Leah fell asleep in the arms of the Forerunner, perhaps the only human to ever have done such a thing.


	29. In the Morning Light

**In the Morning Light**

Leah woke up in the arms of the galaxy's only living, breathing Forerunner and that, to her, was one of the best experiences of her life. He was still asleep, lying on his side with his arms around her, holding her tightly with his head only centimetres from her own. Leah herself could feel the warmth of not only him, but of the heat of the desert outside. The pair had not even needed blankets on the old mattress, as the night had been warm enough, warmer even after the pair had worked up a sweat.

He was human in a lot of respects, which made his physical differences all the more noticeable. The lack of a nose for one, where only two small slitted nostrils were located. His lack of hair, save for the patches of white fuzz on his chest. The short black spines protruding from his scalp, only about a dozen of them, but odd to say the least. Oddly endearing, even.

Leah squirmed out of his grasp and rolled over to face him. The inside of the room was fairly dim, and streaks of sunlight shot through the narrow gaps between the boards that covered the windows. Under the collective weight of both of them, the bed groaned and creaked, as if on the verge of breaking apart. Even so, it had somehow kept it together, despite their many movements last night. Leah had been relieved to see that her and Accord's bodies had been _very_ compatible, despite their obvious differences.

Accord stirred, and his eyes opened slowly, his gaze meeting with hers.

"Good morning," she said. She felt as if nothing in the world could bring her down.

"It doesn't feel like it." Accord put a hand to her face, gently trailing it down her cheek.

"I know what you mean. We didn't exactly get too much sleep last night." Leah put a hand to his chest, running her fingers across the thin white fuzz there. It seemed an oddity, given that he had no hair anywhere else. Nonetheless, it was an oddity she found she liked. "I'll say, I've dreamed about this kind of thing. About what a normal life might be like."

"This is hardly normal," Accord commented.

"But it's at least some kind of normality," Leah replied. "I mean, I don't think I've felt the way I do about you or anybody else, ever. Just how long have we known each other?"

"Hmmm." Accord thought about it briefly. "Three days. I have known people who were married after less. Arranged ones, usually. Often done for political reasons."

"You Forerunners did that kind of thing?"

"We did all sorts of things, other than build massive structures capable of withstanding thousands of years of inactivity." Accord's eyes seemed to brighten, as if thinking about his former life over one-hundred thousand years ago had helped his mood. He was already in a very good one, having woken up next to a wonderful woman, but to tell her of things he had seen and done all those years ago? To at least ensure some of the truth about his people was remembered in this time seemed worthwhile. "You saw my family. I was one of seven children, and that's a below average amount for a married couple to have."

"Below average?" Leah had sometimes wondered what it would be like to have children, to have a family, even married. Such thoughts had only become more frequent in recent years. But to have seven children, it was almost unheard of these days. Not many people had more than two, and larger families often only cropped up on the more isolated planets.

"You seem surprised."

"I just think that's a lot of kids." Leah met his eyes again, and she continued tracing lazy circles upon his muscled chest. "I mean, just one would do me just fine." There was a pause then, as the pair watched each other, neither feeling the need to say anything more. It was enough for them to simply be close, and Leah felt that desire within her stirring once again. She wondered if it would ever go away now, having had her first proper taste of love. Of being loved, even. It seemed unlikely, not that she minded. For now, it was just her and Accord, and she could be content with that. All the problems they faced felt so distant.

With this in mind, she hitched a leg over his own before climbing atop him. He uttered a surprised, but satisfied, grunt as she straddled his thighs and ran her hands hungrily down his chest. She would be sure to make the most of whatever time they had together, ONI and Carson and all those other problems be damned.

* * *

Jak'Talva woke up with a start that morning, with a bottle of human liquor clutched in one clawed hand. Thankfully he had had the sense to put the lid back on after helping himself the night before, as otherwise he might have woken up in a puddle of foul-smelling bourbon. The stuff did not agree with his non-human physiology too well, yet nonetheless it had served its purpose, numbing his senses and sending him into a doze. Like all good booze should, Jak'Talva thought.

He only woke up with a start because he became aware of the Sangheili looming over him, the disdain evident on the alien's face, as he had come to expect from Davam 'Ktham.

"What do you want?" Jak'Talva sat up and rubbed his eyes, before he placed the bottle of bourbon on the small table near the couch. Sunlight filtered through the gaps on the boarded windows, and he could see dust floating through the rays of light.

"We must take stock," Davam said.

"Take stock? Of what?"

"Our weapons." With that, Davam turned and walked over to the bar area, where he had laid out their guns across a series of tables there. Jak'Talva should have guessed that the Sangheili, out of all of them, would be the one up at the crack of dawn with guns and violence on his mind.

"What for? So we can work out exactly how screwed we are?" Jak'Talva climbed off of the couch, rubbing the back of his aching neck with one hand before he shambled over to where Davam was standing. He looked down at the handful of rifles, grenades and numerous spare magazines. Then there was the large metal case they had found stuffed in the back of the Warthog, property of Colonel Carson and something that the Skirmisher recognized. It was a piece of merchandise he had sold the man a few months prior, an old but reliable form of portable heavy machine gun.

"Our enemies will be searching for us," Davam said.

"And what about the Spartan? And the big guy?" By 'big guy', he was referring to the Forerunner.

"They are resting," Davam replied. He did not look up as he disassembled one of the rifles, seemingly well aware of how this human gun operated, which was unusual for a Sangheili.

"Resting? What, they can sleep in but I can't?" Jak'Talva snorted in derision. "What is it with you Sangheili bossing everyone else around?"

Davam did not reply. Instead, he laid out the several major parts of the rifle on the table before him, and with a dry rag he began to wipe clean each of them in turn.

"How about we wake them up?" Jak'Talva suggested. "Bring them down here, so they can at least help out?"

"I am sure they will be out soon," Davam said. "I do not wish to disturb them. They are…preoccupied."

"Preoccupied?" Jak'Talva could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"You must understand what is at stake here." Davam turned his head to him, pausing in his cleaning of the gun parts. The look in his eyes was a serious one, and Jak'Talva narrowed his own eyes in return.

"What would that be?"

"A Forerunner. A living, breathing Forerunner. We cannot simply allow him to be killed. We must do everything in our power to protect him from those who would wish to use him and his knowledge for their own dishonourable purposes." Davam was glaring at the Skirmisher now, in a way that made the latter feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"Hey, I'm a wanted man as much as you are." Jak'Talva would not admit it, but he did see a point in the Sangheili's words. A valid one at that, the idea that the Forerunner needed to be protected, and that letting him fall into custody of Carson or ONI or even the Covenant would be disastrous. One of fate's chosen, as his father would have said, since his father had been one for believing in that kind of thing. Jak'Talva liked to think that he controlled his own destiny, yet he had so far found himself very much doubting that in recent days. It was as if some kind of higher power was messing with him for the fun of it. "Exactly what do you owe the Forerunner? Really, they're the reason the war with the humans started, all because of the things they left behind."

"I am doing it, because it is the right thing to do," Davam replied. "If you do not wish to be here, you are free to leave. I won't stop you."

Jak'Talva had considered running away, like he had often done in the past. Usually when he accumulated too much heat in one star system he left it in a hurry, and he had done just this several times over. He was a wanted criminal in some territories, both human and Kig-Yar, and he had even angered the governments on a few Sangheili planets as well. Arms dealing might have made him money, as did the other enterprises he engaged in, but it always got him in trouble. No matter how careful he was, eventually he would get found out and he would need to leave in a hurry.

"I must ask you, Jak'Talva," Davam said, looking to him with a curious gaze. "Just what have you done in your life that you can be proud of? Have you done anything for anyone else, other than yourself?"

The questions caught the Skirmisher off-guard, although normally when someone questioned his selfish nature he just laughed it off. Before he could reply, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind, and both Leah and Accord came down them, both fully dressed. The Forerunner looked as serious as usual, although in comparison Leah had an added spring in her step, and her mood had lightened up considerably since he had last seen her. Jak'Talva immediately thought that they made for an odd couple.

"Another fine morning," Jak'Talva commented, as the pair descended the stairs and entered the room. "Hopefully the good night's sleep gave you some ideas as to how we should proceed? Since right now, I've got no idea what we should do next. You lost the codes to my ship, after all."

Leah frowned at him, apparently irritated by the immediate dose of his attitude he had provided first thing in the morning.

"We need to take stock…" She began, but Davam interrupted her.

"I am in the process of going through our armaments," the Sangheili stated. "We have three designated marksman rifles, two battle rifles, several grenades and numerous magazines for all the aforementioned firearms. There is one other thing, which was in the Warthog." He walked over to the large metal case at the end of the table. With both hands, he undid the latches, popping open the case, the top half falling onto the table with a dull _clunk_. Inside was a large three-barrelled machine gun, a smaller version of what one would often find fitted on the back of a UNSC military Warthog. It lacked the shield that such models carried, exposing the operator more so than the military versions. There was a bipod hanging from the end of the weapon, and the ammunition came in a number of large boxes that held about one-hundred rounds each. Jak'Talva knew all of this because he had been the one to sell the weapon to Carson in the first place. He had simply never expected to end up using it himself.

"I've seen these before," Leah said, stepping up to the table to survey the large machine gun. "It's a lot more portable than the ones they put on the Warthog. Something I could probably fire from the hip." She paused for a moment, thinking about this. "Of course, you're unlikely to hit anything firing from the hip."

"It's a defensive weapon," Jak'Talva said. "I guess if you needed to hold off a superior force, then it would be perfect for the job. Until the enemy works out where you are and throws a few grenades your way." Leah was watching him carefully, in a way he had not seen her do so before. "What is it? Do I have something on my chin?"

"Are you going to help us?" She spoke the question in a much more serious voice. Jak'Talva was not entirely sure what she meant.

"Haven't I been doing just that?" He asked in return. "I mean, I've almost been killed running with you three. On more than one occasion. You really think I want to run away? I would have done it by now. I'm not stupid." He shook his head. The thought had indeed crossed his mind more than once, but he had rapidly dismissed it each time. "I'm not going to run."

"I can really believe that." Leah did not sound convinced. Jak'Talva huffed, feeling his frustration boil over. Sure, he would be the first to admit that he looked after himself, yet in these recent days he had done much more 'helping' than he normally would have. All because he had been dragged into the entire mess, a criminal on his way to torture and prison, only to be thrown into the utter chaos that was Thrace and its assortment of opposing factions. He did not need others judging him, and he certainly did not need Leah judging him, as she was practically the cause for his predicament.

"Maybe Carson will take you back." Accord was the one to say this, and it struck a nerve within the Skirmisher that caused the thick plumage on his head to stand up straight. A threatening gesture, the meaning of which was easily discerned by other species. "You did sell him weapons, did you not?"

"I have always looked after myself," Jak'Talva said, trying to keep his exasperation from seeping into his voice. He was only marginally successful. "There is nothing wrong with that, and if you did what I did for a living you would know that in some cases, it is the only way to do business. You don't have much time for friends when you deal in arms, because most of the people you meet are either rivals trying to muscle in on your business, or undercover law enforcement officers who would have me thrown in prison. You people are too quick to judge…"

"I think you've chosen to stay with us because you actually care," Leah interrupted. "And you know what else I think? That you're too proud to admit it. You're helping us out because you want to, and because it might put some meaning to your life. You want to know how I know this?"

For the first time in a long while, Jak'Talva had nothing to say. The Spartan spoke genuinely, from the heart, and he could hear it in her voice.

"Because it's why I'm here," Leah continued. "Because it's the right thing to do, and it'll probably make for the first time in my life where I've done something without being ordered to do it. The first time I've done something that actually made a genuine difference, outside of the war. And even most of that was just senseless killing." She took a few seconds to catch her breath before going on. "I believe you're the same. I'm no real good judge of character, I missed out on getting those social skills like I missed out on a normal childhood. Still, I think you're just too full of yourself to admit why you continue to tag along, despite all the danger and the near-death experiences." She smiled then, an unusual move from the Spartan. It was apparent that her mood had greatly improved since the day before, and Jak'Talva suspected that the Forerunner had something to do with it.

"I've been running most of my life." Jak'Talva sat himself down on the couch that had served as a bed the night before. He certainly did not like to admit it, but Leah was mostly right. In a way, he had denied it, why he chose to run with her and the Forerunner even when the opportunity to leave had presented itself. He did not have anywhere else to go, that was true, yet the Spartan was also correct in much of what she said.

The Skirmisher relaxed his plumage and ran a hand through it, ruffling it like a human would their hair.

"I ran away from home," he said. "I ran away from the war." He leaned back on the couch, looking up at the other three. None of them said anything, they simply allowed him to continue talking. It was about time Jak'Talva did just that. "I finished my training. I was conscripted, you see. Like most males of my species, we get put through the rigours of combat training and are sent to the frontlines right away. You would be surprised how few of us are left now. The population of male T'vaon's has dropped significantly since the war." He did a downwards motions with one hand to emphasise this point. "I read the reports from the battlefields. I learned what the war was doing to people. So I ran." He had not told this to anyone before, not that he had ever really given himself an opportunity to. He had no real friends, and he never spoke of his personal life to anyone involved in his 'business'. "I deserted, only days before I was scheduled to be shipped to a combat zone. I can never go back home, because I would likely be castrated for that kind of crime." He noticed Leah cock an eyebrow upon hearing this, and Jak'Talva offered a chuckle. "Not a punishment you humans do to each other very often, is it?"

She shook her head.

"I guess it makes for one way to dissuade men from deserting," Leah said.

"Now I'm here, and my successful arms dealing business appears to have run its course." The Skirmisher sighed. His life had taken a sharp downwards turn lately, and he mostly had himself to blame. "I might say that I became complacent, here on Thrace. The money was good, and I made a life for myself over the last six months or so. Staying here for so long is probably what got me caught."

"ONI had been tracking you all over the frontier," Leah explained. Jak'Talva let out a laugh. He might have been flattered, had he been in a better mood. "You were selling guns to insurrectionists. That sort of thing gets you noticed."

"I was selling the weapons these independent worlds need to defend themselves," Jak'Talva countered. "Surely even you can see that?"

"Perhaps." Leah crossed her arms over her chest. "What is it you plan to do now? Because if you're going to help us, you'll need to pull your weight."

"Like I said, I've been running from place-to-place. I think, maybe for once, I'll stop running." Jak'Talva stood up then, feeling as if he had taken a significant weight off of his mind. It was a start, and it did not make the thought of imminent death easier to take. Still, if their enemies came knocking, and they likely would, he was going to meet them head on.


	30. Convergence

**Convergence**

Colonel William Carson knew how ONI worked, he knew how the UNSC worked and he knew that they would not leave Thrace alone for as long as they existed. They could not bear the thought that one of their own, a decorated ODST, could go off and found his own independent government and control an entire planet. Hence why he had purchased as many weapons as he could, using Thrace's strong economy to do so, as they made plenty of money shipping rare ores off-world and trading with similar 'independent' colonies. It had paid off, since the Covenant attack had been thwarted and the people of Deckar's Stand were very grateful for the protection he and his soldiers had offered them. There were celebrations in the streets even now, as people had emerged from their shelters to see the cruiser destroyed and many of the aliens it had brought along slain, their bodies littering the mansion grounds. The aptly named 'Bird Town', home to numerous Kig-Yar, was currently the centre of riots where angry citizens sought to payback the closest thing left on Thrace that resembled the Covenant, stirred on by the recent victory. For now, Carson had his police keep the section closed-off, but he personally did not care much if the whole cesspit burned to the ground. A way to wipe the slate clean and force off the alien leeches he had been planning on removing anyway.

Carson would have liked to soak in the festivities, but he knew it was not over. ONI still worked against him and the people of this world, and he had a Forerunner to catch. He certainly would not allow a potentially valuable asset such as a living, breathing Forerunner fall into the grasp of ONI, and the UNSC as a whole. It was unthinkable, not when the Forerunner was in his very backyard. Thrace was his planet after all, and he had claimed it fair and square from the previous government, one that had been comprised of mostly useless bureaucrats anyway.

Riding along in an open-top Warthog, Carson sat in the backseat with a cigar at his mouth as they scooted along the desert plains. They moved in the middle of a convoy, comprised of several similar vehicles, with armed soldiers crammed into each. Their search had begun at dawn, and multiple parties had spread out to follow in the wake of the escaped Spartan and her Forerunner friend. As he had suspected, the pair had made off during the confusion of the battle. He could at least admire the Spartan for having taken down the cruiser. She had done her duty and had helped to save the people of Thrace, so even Carson would feel some regret in killing her. Still, it needed to be done, as he knew that the Spartan would never cease her pursuit of him if he took the Forerunner. She had broken her ties with ONI to protect him, so it was clear even to Carson that the Spartan meant what she did in the most serious way possible. To have a Spartan pursuing him was something he would rather avoid, as he was well aware of their reputation, more so than most people on Thrace. This far away from the UNSC, there were still civilians around here who thought such 'super soldiers' were simply myths, war stories that had been blown well out of proportion. Propaganda, even, to make the UNSC appear better than it really was.

The convoy stopped at the crest of a rocky hill, well away from Deckar's Stand. The soldier seated in the passenger seat, Baird, turned to him with a paper map in hand. He unfolded it and spread it across his lap, while Carson looked down upon it thoughtfully.

"There's not much out here, Colonel," Baird said. He put a finger to the one landmark in a sea of nothing. "There is the old mining settlement. The former Covenant beachhead."

"That's where we'll go," Carson replied. He could sense it now, the feeling that they were nearing their goal. The anticipation of a job well done. He had thirty men at his direct command here, and he figured not even a Spartan would be able to stand up to concentrated fire power. That, and her Forerunner friend seemed unlikely to overcome such numbers, all of whom were heavily armed.

"As you said, Sergeant Major," Carson added, before he took another drag on his cigar. "It's the only thing out here, and the only place they could hide."

* * *

It appeared that things were finally starting to go her way. This was something Commander Laura Boone had wanted for the last few days, ever since her frigate had gone up in flames and she had been stuck on Thrace with a handful of personnel, most of whom had got themselves killed during the raid on the police headquarters. Now, with reinforcements at her command, she could finally do something proper about the situation concerning Leah. There was also the matter of the Forerunner, and something in that regard had fallen into place as well. One of the field operatives had engineered a portable scanner that was tuned to the Forerunner's life signature, something they had been able to determine from the medical data they had collected from him when he had been staying aboard the ship. Now that scanner, in the form of a small satellite dish, had been fitted upon the back of a Warthog, which in turn had been put in a convoy of several similar vehicles. Boone rode in the Warthog at the lead, with Spartan Eric manning the machine gun at the vehicle's rear.

The heat was stifling in the open-top Warthog, and Boone could feel sweat seeping out of her every pore. She wore a set of sunglasses and a black unmarked cap that matched the mostly black uniform she wore, which in turn bore no discernible markings. Most of the operatives here wore similarly unmarked uniforms, ensuring that no one would be able to determine their ONI ties at a mere glance. Boone had worked in this field for several years, and she had clawed her way to where she was through sheer grit, determination and a knack for getting the job done. She could not allow her good, clean record to be smeared by the monumental stuff-up the whole of Operation Distant Thunder had become. In essence, she needed to get a hold of that Forerunner, and she needed to deal with Spartan Leah. Anything less than that, and her career in ONI was likely over. Not only that, but there had been rumours going around concerning the relationship between her and Eric, rumours that no one ever spoke to her about but she heard them behind her back here and there, and they had been going on for some time. It was another thing she had to worry herself over, as ONI had very strict rules on fraternisation, even if it had benefitted the operation to have a Spartan-III at her beck and call, all in return for the occasional bit of sex.

The satellite dish in the middle vehicle spun slowly on its fitting, scanning the surrounding desert for miles on end. The technician responsible for it sat by it, working at a laptop computer as readings went through the scanner and came up as something decipherable on the computer. They had started by driving near to Deckar's Stand, with only a few vehicles to keep a low profile. Nothing had come up there, or in the surrounding desert, so they had travelled well out of town. How far could the Forerunner have gone, really? Short of finding a ship off-world, the Forerunner, and in turn his Spartan-II friend, would surely have to be close?

They had been driving around for hours now and even Boone was beginning to get tired of it. No tangible results came their way, and the commandoes were getting restless. Eric was alert, as always, and he kept his hands on the Warthog's gun the entire drive. He did not ever seem to get bored, like any normal human being might. His senses were finely tuned, as they were with all Spartans, and he kept an eye out when others did not. Boone could only admire that about him, as so far he had been the only person here she found she could genuinely rely upon. And even he had failed to take down Leah when he had had the chance, winging her rather than delivering a fatal shot. Had he lost his nerve? Boone liked to think he had not, and the incident had been a mere mistake, but part of her thought that maybe one Spartan would have difficulty pulling the trigger on another. It seemed likely, even with the differences between the II's and the III's.

Something beeped from the sensor vehicle, and the driver there tooted the Warthog's horn. It was enough to knock aside Boone's train of thought, and her attention was immediately diverted to the vehicle behind hers. The horn signalled the entire convoy to stop, and Boone was the first out of her Warthog to check as to whether any real results had been attained. She walked over to the technician seated in the back of the Warthog, who looked up at her as she approached.

"Commander, the sensor's got something," he said. "A life sign, non-human, and it matches what we have on record from the medical scans we did on the Forerunner. It's him, I'm certain of it. And the computer's giving me a ninety-six percent chance that it's him, which is about as good as we're going to get."

"It better be him." Boone looked at the laptop screen, and saw a map of the surrounding region upon it. A flashing red dot signified the life-sign's location, and it appeared to be a fair drive from where they had currently stopped, which was roughly in the middle of nowhere, dead in the middle of a dry lake-bed. "Send those coordinates to every vehicle in the convoy. We'll move out right away." She motioned to the others to get moving, as she went back to her Warthog and climbed aboard. A newfound sense of confidence was within her, and for once it appeared her luck was about to change for the better.

* * *

Leah found Davam out in the main street, hot as it was, with a gentle breeze wafting down its length. The Sangheili appeared deep in contemplation, his eyes gazing down the length of the gravel road, sometimes flitting over the surrounding, rundown buildings. He turned his head as the Spartan approached, and he seemed to relax a little when he saw that it was her. A veteran warrior such as himself had finely-tuned senses, and as a result he was alert to everything around him, even when he did not necessarily need to be.

"This place would make an excellent ambush point," Davam stated. He motioned one hand at the surrounding buildings. "If we plan properly, we can lure an attacking force down this road. There are only narrow lanes going off of it at either side, and we could use the Warthog to block one end of the street. If they are using vehicles, they would have nowhere else to go but backwards. A few well-timed explosions should confuse them, and in the chaos we can take them by surprise."

"Is that all you think about?" Leah asked him. She saw his point, judging from the arrangement of the street. Still, luring anyone down here would take some doing, as anyone with some tactical sense was unlikely to enter an obvious kill-zone like this one. Of course, if they knew the group was here, they may very well barge in, confident that a superior force would grant them victory over a small, disparate group with a handful of weapons between them.

"I was simply making an observation," the Sangheili replied. "Our enemies have likely been in pursuit of us. They will eventually reach the conclusion that we have come here, given that there are very few other landmarks in this desert." Again, Davam had a point. Coming here might have granted them some kind of reprieve, one Leah herself had very much needed, but it was likely that either ONI or Carson's people would be on their way, and they would probably have a significant force behind them.

"We could leave, but that would simply put us in the position of having to find somewhere else to go," Davam added. "If we return to the town, we will simply put ourselves within Colonel Carson's immediate reach. There are very few other settlements of any worth on this world, and even fewer with spaceports."

"You've done your research," Leah commented.

"Indeed." Davam narrowed his emerald green eyes at her, as if curious about something. The question he asked next caught the Spartan by surprise. "Do you love the Forerunner?"

"Love?" Leah swallowed. What other word could describe the feelings she had for him, and the things they had done together the night before? Still, Davam's overall bluntness caught her off-guard. "You knew about the two of us?"

"It was apparent," Davam said. "I thought it for the best to leave the two of you alone last night. Even warriors like ourselves deserve some kind of reprieve from endless battles." He spoke this last sentence in a gradually distant tone, as if his mind had wandered whilst saying it. There was a brief silence between them then, and Leah realised that she had not answered his question.

"I do love him," Leah replied. "As unusual as that sounds."

"Not unusual," Davam countered. "Of course, very few could truthfully claim they were in love with a Forerunner."

"Yeah, probably." Leah mulled over the subject for a moment. "Maybe that was part of why I chose to protect him. Because even at that moment, I felt something for him…" She trailed off, no longer sure of what she was saying. Was this how it felt to be in love with someone? To reach a point where she doubted and second-guessed her own feelings?

"What is it you humans sometimes say?" Davam gave the question a moment's thought. "Love works in mysterious…"

"We call that a 'cliché'," Leah interrupted, amused at the almost dead serious way in which the Sangheili had spoken it. "An overused, cringe-inducing phrase that's far outstayed its welcome. Not that you would have known that, of course."

"Perhaps you did love him from the beginning?" Davam suggested. "That is something we can never be sure of. You yourself are probably unable to pinpoint the time you first developed feelings for the Forerunner."

"You're right, I can't." Leah shrugged. "You've been in love, haven't you? Sangheili do get married and all that, right?"

"Indeed we do." Davam narrowed his eyes, as if the question had struck a chord. "I was married once, many years ago. I had three children with my wife, two sons and a daughter. The sons died in battle, and the daughter I see very little of now, as she married into a well-regarded clan who live far from my own."

Leah nodded her head, listening carefully. She had not expected Davam to be so open with her, but he seemed relaxed, and it was likely the fact that they had fought together these last couple of days had made the Sangheili regard her as, at the very least, a fellow warrior.

"My wife died of an illness, not long after our eldest son was killed." Davam's gaze went to the far end of the street, a distant look crossing his eyes. He was likely reliving those very memories, although he did not seem at all pained by it. "Perhaps it was the death of our son who caused it."

"She died of a broken heart?" Leah suggested. She had heard the saying, although she doubted the science behind such an occurrence.

"Perhaps." Davam turned to her again, and flexed his lower mandibles, almost thoughtfully.

"What about the one the Baron killed?"

"My third son," Davam replied. "His mother lost her husband during the war, and had no children of her own. We were close friends, and I was able to grant her the child she had always wanted."

Leah swallowed. This seemed to be getting very personal, yet the Sangheili kept talking, not at all bothered by telling a human, a Spartan of all things, so much about his personal life.

"I brought him here to seek vengeance for an attack that destroyed much of our clan," Davam explained, "I thought it would make him a warrior. He was only young, and had not yet completed his training. I…" He trailed off, and it was clear that the memories were simply too recent and vivid to not be painful. "His name was Narsa. His mother was among those killed in the attack, an attack lead by Baron 'Sraom. It was only when I encountered the Baron a few days ago that I discovered that the Baron had been acting on orders from Jul 'Mdama."

Leah had heard of 'Mdama. He was the leader of the 'Storm' Covenant, the largest and most powerful Covenant splinter faction, and those who had been on Requiem during the events surrounding the Didact. Jul 'Mdama himself was a target for ONI, although they had so far been unsuccessful in finding him and taking him down.

"And the Baron sought to create his own powerful faction, gain his own personal army, likely using the Forerunner as a means of drawing those of a more religious intent to his side. He killed Narsa before my very eyes…" Davam clenched one hand into a fist as he said this. "And he did it to taunt me. To show me that I had brought my own flesh and blood on a foolhardy crusade, all driven by vengeance directed at him, when it really should have been directed against 'Mdama. Even the Baron had cut his ties with 'Mdama."

"Was it worth it?" Leah asked.

"What was?"

"Killing him. The Baron." She found herself wondering why a Sangheili would refer to himself as a 'Baron', but she figured that was a question for another time.

"I felt little different when I did it," Davam said. "Vengeance is a strange thing, Spartan Leah. You want it more than anything, so much so that it consumes you, and then when you do get it nothing changes. You have simply caused one more death in an already death-filled universe. Still, I like to believe that by killing the Baron I have spared many more lives from his greed for power. You saw what he did, bringing his ship to Deckar's Stand. He would likely have tried levelling the city, if only for his own amusement. Baron 'Sraom was without honour, which is unusual, given how well-regarded his clan is back on Sanghelios."

Davam paused for a long moment, the pair standing in silence out on the dusty main street. A gentle wind picked up then, kicking up sand around them as it billowed through the deserted town. A wooden door swung on its hinges nearby, creaking and slamming within its frame. Leah had seen similar scenes in the old entertainment vids, movies from centuries before that had once been very popular and were among the massive library of films one could access from just about any shipboard entertainment terminal. She half-expected a tumbleweed to roll on by, although somewhat disappointingly, none did.

"You think they're coming?" She already knew the answer to this question, but she wanted to hear it from someone else. Her senses were as finely tuned as Davam's, both veteran soldiers as they were, and she could indeed feel something. She had been trained to trust her instincts, and her old instructor had made his opinion clear about them on more than one occasion: _"Always trust your instincts, Spartans. God granted them to us for a reason, and they're nature's way of telling you that something's wrong."_

"I know they are coming, Spartan Leah." Davam started walking on ahead. "I will scout the perimeter and keep watch on the main approach. You should enjoy whatever time you can with the Forerunner, as I feel we will not be alone here for long."

Leah remained where she was for a minute longer, as Davam strode on down the street, disappearing around a corner at the far end.

* * *

Leah found Accord seated in the bar area of the old hotel. He was drinking from a glass jug filled with water, presumably some he had acquired from the well outside. His eyes lightened noticeably as he saw her approach, and Leah sat down in the dusty chair next to him.

"You look worried," Accord said.

"I _am_ worried." Leah normally did a good job at hiding what she really thought, but somehow the Forerunner knew what was going on in her mind. Despite his relatively stiff face, he seemed able to pick up on the finer movements of her own. "We're up shit creek without a paddle. That's what Nolte would have said, anyway."

"Shit creek?" Accord took another gulp of water. "I am afraid I do not understand…"

"We're in a bad position and we're underequipped," Leah replied. She found the Forerunner's general confusion over the term amusing. Hearing him say it even more so. "I think, for the first time in my life, I've got no plan."

"What do you mean?"

"Normally I always have a plan. It's what I was trained to do. Come up with solutions to problems right on the spot. But right now?" She shook her head. "All I can think about is how we're stuck out here, and we've got both Carson and ONI coming after us."

"They don't know we're here."

"But they'll work it out," Leah countered. "They'll be all over us soon enough. Davam certainly thinks so."

Accord finished off what was left in the jug then. He put it down, before he moved one of his large, six-digit hands to one of her own. He clasped it tightly, and Leah enjoyed the touch, enjoyed the closeness they shared.

"Whatever happens, Leah, know that I love you." Accord's eyes met with her own, and once again Leah felt that unusual but welcoming sensation within her. The one she had felt when Accord had been guiding her to bed the night before. "I haven't felt what I do for you for anyone else. There is no one else I would rather be with. If our enemies are coming for us, then we will fight together, like the warriors we are."

He was leaning towards her now. Leah did the same, and their lips came together in a brief kiss before a familiar voice broke the mood and ruined the moment, all at once.

"Hey, you two." Jak'Talva stood nearby, having somehow crept up on the pair unheard. Leah and Accord broke their physical contact, eyeing the Skirmisher suspiciously. "Sounds like Davam's seen something, since he's charging down the street right now."

Leah was on her feet immediately, as was Accord. The pair of them, with Jak'Talva in tow, made their way to the hotel entrance. Davam barged in through the front doors, his expression grim.

"I've sighted what I can only assume is a scout," the Sangheili announced. "On the eastern perimeter, a single Warthog wielding Colonial colours."

"Carson," Leah said. The Colonel and his soldiers would know the terrain a lot better than ONI. It was not surprising that they were here first, although they were unlikely to be the last.

"The occupants did not observe me, but I suspect they will be entering town within moments," Davam added.

"They'd only be the tip of the spear. We could hide, but if Carson's entire militia enters the town, we're likely to be discovered." She ran the possibilities through her mind, trying to come up with some kind of scheme taking into account their numbers, the potential numbers of the enemy, and the weapons Leah and her group had at their disposal. Admittedly, the odds were vastly against their favour. Still, as a Spartan, she had taken part in 'suicide' missions and survived. Fighting off a colonial army should have been a breeze, no matter how well-trained and well-equipped they might have been.

"If we're going to make our stand here, we're going to need to lay some traps." She turned to Davam. "Get whatever you need to set up the ambush you suggested earlier."

"We're making our stand here?" Jak'Talva's eyes went noticeably wide. "Why? I mean, we could get in the Warthog and drive…"

Leah took a step towards the Skirmisher, which was enough to silence him.

"Drive to where?" She asked him. "Back to Deckar's Stand? Right into Carson's arms? Or right into ONI's grasp? We've got nowhere to go. We drive out into the desert and we'll probably die out there."

"We could surrender," Accord suggested, which surprised Leah. "To Colonel Carson. He did not want to kill us, earlier."

"He probably does now," Leah replied. Accord did have a point. Carson had kept them alive, if only to guarantee Accord's cooperation with whatever he had planned. "If we give ourselves up to Carson, we'll just get locked in cells all over again. And then we'll be in the sort of place ONI won't have any trouble getting to. Personally, I don't trust Carson whatsoever. I'm sorry Accord, but surrender isn't an option."

"How about I take the Warthog?" Jak'Talva asked. "Since you're so intent on dying here."

"There isn't enough fuel in that to get you back to town, let alone anywhere else," Leah said, turning to the Skirmisher. "Besides, what happened to 'not running anymore'?"

Jak'Talva shrugged.

"Well, I was just putting it out there." He straightened up a little. "I guess I could put my knowledge of large weapons to use. If Carson's people are going to come in here, I might suggest placing the machine gun as part of an ambush." Jak'Talva walked over to the table where the large metal case was located, the one that contained the bulky, portable weapon. He popped it open, putting his hands on the weapon itself. "Since we're so intent on getting ourselves killed, I think we should try and put as many of the bad guys in the ground as we can."

Leah had not really thought about the potential for death. She had had the threat of death hanging over her for most of her life. Every mission carried that risk, some more so than others. It was something that was always there, something she had long since become used to. Now, though, she had her doubts. She looked at Accord, and realised that now she had something to lose. She had _him_ , and she loved him. There was no other word for it, and she could not see him die. Yet here they were, at the end of the road, their options all but gone. The Warthog had little fuel left in it, and it had not been full to begin with, so driving to a possible escape was almost out of the question. Carson and ONI had aircraft at their disposal anyway, so driving along the open desert was unlikely to work out with that in mind. They really had hit the end of the road in an almost literal fashion, having come to rest at the last trace of civilisation for many miles on end. Beyond here, there may have been a few mines in operation, but even those were well out of reach.

"Our backs are to the wall," Leah said carefully. "We can't run. If we can kill Carson and enough of his soldiers, we should be able to make enough chaos to risk a return to Deckar's Stand."

"And ONI?" Accord was the one to ask this.

"They can find us anywhere," Leah replied. She looked to Davam and Jak'Talva. "I know you two were never really part of this. You can run if you want." She half-expected Jak'Talva to turn and leave, but instead the Skirmisher picked the heavy machine gun out of its case, hefting it onto the table along with three boxes of ammunition.

"Like you said, we can't run." Jak'Talva sounded almost calm, despite the truth of their situation. "There's nothing but sand and rocks out there, anyway."

Davam slowly shook his head, when Leah rested her eyes upon him.

"As I said before," the Sangheili stated, "I will fight with you until the end."

Leah nodded in acknowledgement. There was a good chance they might not make it, yet she knew that she had perhaps been in worse situations. As for Accord, he seemed to have accepted their situation well before anyone else. Again, he clasped her hand in his own, and she turned to face him, peering up into those crystal blue eyes of his.

"We will do what we were bred to do," Accord said. "We will fight, and we will win. Carson, ONI, it does not matter who. Every obstacle we will overcome." He sounded so certain, so confident, that even Leah felt herself becoming caught up in it.


	31. Confrontation

**Confrontation**

It did not take long for Colonel Carson to make an appearance. The man himself rode into town in the back of an armoured Warthog, cigar in his mouth, trailing smoke as the vehicle came to a halt in the main street. He was followed by about five other similar vehicles, and they all stopped on the street, soldiers filing out of them with their weapons raised as they fanned out to secure the area.

Leah had to hand it to Carson, he was brave. She could have easily have shot him from a window with the way he came into town, yet she did not. In fact, she had opted to hear him out, if only to further lure him into a trap.

Leah stood on the steps of the old church at the end of the street. She had a rifle in hand, resting over her shoulder. She stood her ground as the colonial soldiers scattered about the street, checking the doors and windows of the nearby buildings. Carson himself climbed out of his vehicle, and as he did so he took his cigar from his mouth, blowing smoke in its wake. Between Leah and him was about twenty metres of open space, with little in the way of cover between them. Carson smiled up at her, coming to a stop not far from the church steps. The building itself was old, built of brick, with boarded up windows and doors that hung loosely upon their hinges. Nonetheless, the cross that sat upon its spire remained in place, forming the tallest point in the town.

"Here we are," Carson said. Leah was not sure whether he was referring to the fact that he and his soldiers had come, or to the fact that the two of them had met again. "It didn't take too much to find you. A bit of deduction here, add to that the fact that there is very little around these parts aside from this old town." Carson took another puff upon his cigar. Leah wondered how people could still tolerate such things, knowing full well the kind of damage they could do and the cost of purchasing a set of newly-grown lungs, or whatever else the tobacco smoke damaged. "Where's the Forerunner?"

"He's…" Leah took a moment to formulate her reply. "Somewhere."

"How very helpful." Carson paused briefly, as he considered what else to say. "Now, what you did back at the estate, with the cruiser? That was amazing. Worthy of my respect, and the respect of everyone else here. In fact, once the people of Deckar's Stand find out a Spartan saved them, they'll treat you like a hero. Have you ever wanted that, Leah? Haven't you ever wanted for people to adore you for your actions?"

Leah narrowed her eyes. She was not sure what Carson was getting at, and as such she did not like it. The man seemed the manipulative type, and if she recalled correctly from reading ONI's records on him, he had done a fine job of manipulating other leaders of other independent worlds to do his bidding. That was part of the reason why he was so dangerous, as Carson had brought together a large independent force that could challenge the UNSC if it ever set foot in this part of the galaxy.

"I'm not one to waste talent," Carson continued. "Someone like you would be a benefit to this world. You could be its chief protector, and you've already done a good job of it so far."

Leah could hardly believe what she was hearing. Did Carson seriously have the audacity to offer her a job, after everything that had happened? She knew better than to trust him, of course.

"You can't be serious," Leah replied.

"Do I look like I'm joking to you?" Carson cocked an eyebrow. "I'm perfectly serious, Leah. ONI might be after you, but they're after me as well. Take a look; I'm still standing, after all their attempts to take me down and disrupt my operations. I'm building something truly great out here, and I think you would make an excellent addition to it."

"Under your leadership, of course."

"Don't be like that, Leah. I'm a reasonable man. Your knowledge and experience would be invaluable, and your advice would be welcomed and heeded at every turn. I'm not some tin-pot dictator, contrary to what you might think."

Leah did not believe it, not entirely. She might have respected the people out here, who eked out a living in such a harsh environment. They were survivors, and the people here on Thrace had been successful. Colonel Carson, on the other hand, was not one of them. He was an outsider, and he had manipulated his way to where he was now.

"You really think the people love you?" Leah asked him. She noticed that some of his soldiers had fanned out behind him, about three on each of his flanks, their rifles trained on her. A firing squad, more or less. They were taking no chances, not when they were faced with a Spartan.

"I know they do," Carson replied, succinct.

"You're an outsider, Colonel," Leah said. She called him by his rank, for she at least had respect for it. Carson had been a decorated ODST before he had gone AWOL, turning up on Thrace not long after before eradicating the previous UNSC-friendly government during the later years of the war. It had been a coup, pure and simple, and Carson had plenty of blood on his hands from it and his actions since taking control of the colony. "You came here, suckered in some followers, and executed a bunch of bureaucrats before announcing yourself as the 'grand leader' of Thrace. You're nothing more than a glorified parasite, when you think about it."

Carson's demeanour shifted then. He faltered, as he moved his hand to place his cigar back to his mouth. Leah's words had struck a chord, specifically the man's high regard for himself, and there was an extended silence as Carson considered his response.

"A parasite?" Carson seemed to roll the words around in his mouth. "I'm my own man, Spartan Leah. I always have been. I've seen plenty of shit, just like you have, except I didn't have the augments to make it easier. The war was fought and won by people like me, and not just by some trumped-up science experiment like yourself." His tone became somewhat more incisive as he spoke, and Leah realised that she had indeed struck a chord, if only by calling the man what he was. The truth hurts, as they say, and in Carson's case it hurt most of all. "You were nothing but a pawn of the UNSC, and now you're nothing more than a soldier without a cause. Hardly makes you a 'soldier', doesn't it?"

"I have a cause," Leah said, her tone level.

"What? The Forerunner?" Carson scoffed. "You think something like him even has a future? He'll be hunted to the ends of the galaxy for what he is."

He was right, of course. Leah did not say as much, but Colonel Carson knew what she did. No matter what happened here today, Accord would be a permanent outsider, the last of his kind. He would have to live in the furthest isolation if he wanted some kind of life, and Leah could only wonder as to what kind of 'life' that would be. Still, if it was just her and Accord together somewhere, there might be a chance for some kind of happiness.

"Where is he?" Carson asked. "He's around here somewhere. That much is obvious."

"You'll have to get through me, if you want the Forerunner." Leah looked at the guns pointed her way, and the way Carson watched her as she said this. He seemed almost amused by the statement, nodding his head eagerly.

"I thought you'd say that," he said. "I'm sure you've faced worse odds, but the thing is, Spartan, is that I've got about thirty men with me. You're just one woman, enhanced or not, you'll die just like any other human being when you get thirty bullets in you. Really, you don't stand much of a chance."

Leah had thought about her chances many times over the course of the morning. Sure, her chances of survival were slim, but since when had they ever been good? Every mission she had gone on as a Spartan had been high risk, and every time she had come home in the end, sometimes with an injury or two, but alive to fight another day. She had faced larger forces of more advanced foes. Compared to the Covenant, Carson's men were a welcome change. Of course, she knew better than to underestimate them. They certainly had the numerical advantage, and they were better armed. At the moment, she carried only one designated marksman rifle of colonial design and a handful of grenades. Hardly the loadout required to fend off a small army.

"A Colonel should know better," Leah said. "You lead your soldiers straight into a narrow street, with buildings on both sides. Are you really that confident that you can beat me?"

"You and your friends." Carson flicked his smouldering cigarette butt onto the ground underfoot, before crushing it with one booted heel. "You can kill me, but it won't change anything. There are plenty of others like me just itching to take my place."

* * *

The ONI convoy had halted on the edge of town. Boone had seen the local force enter the deserted town, a sure sign that they had come to the right place. With this in mind, she climbed out of her Warthog and onto the desert plateau, covered in sparse, dry vegetation as it was. While the ONI operatives fanned out and started to move towards the old town in earnest, she turned to Eric, who had since dismounted the Warthog's gun and taken up his rifle from the rear of the vehicle.

"Lieutenant, go on ahead and get a vantage point," Boone said. "See what you can see and report in. I'll have our people surround the town."

"Understood." Eric flicked off the safety on his rifle and started ahead.

"One other thing," Boone said, causing the Spartan to stop and turn around. "Don't go shooting until I tell you to. I'd prefer to get this done with a minimum of fuss."

Eric took a moment to reply, as if thinking over the order and finding it unsatisfactory. Like a good Spartan, he nodded his head and resumed his path to the town. Boone watched him leave with slightly narrowed eyes, unsure of what to make of the Spartan's intentions. Eric was yet to let her down, yet she had sometimes found his apparent delight in committing acts of violence odd. Still, she did not like him any less with that thought in mind, and it simply added to his overall reliability for when it came to getting the job done.

* * *

"So, who's move is it, then?" Carson asked, looking around the quiet street. A gentle wind billowed through, kicking up sand as it went. "I mean, I don't see your friends anywhere. Still, I suppose the Forerunner has me in his sights from a window someplace?" He put his arms out to either side, in a sort of half-shrug, half 'what are you going to do about it?' pose. "Or perhaps the Sangheili you befriended? Funny that, a Spartan and a Sangheili, chumming it up. How far we've progressed, wouldn't you say?"

Leah did not say anything. Somewhere, she thought she could hear a car's engine. The roar of a Warthog, to be precise. It ended almost as quickly as it began, and the soldiers ahead did not appear to pick up on it. They remained where they were, six guns trained on Leah, the others moving about the town as they swept each building in turn. They would reach her end of the street soon enough, and there they would find the others. She intended to make her move before then.

* * *

Davam was situated on the upper floor of the church, specifically within the tower. He had positioned himself before a narrow, slim window, albeit one that had long since lost its glass pane and had been partially boarded up. From here, he could sight down onto the main street using his designated marksman rifle, and he had placed Colonel Carson dead in his sights. He had to admire the human for his bravery, entering the town as he had, leading his soldiers from the front like a true leader. Still, it would be his undoing, as soon as Leah gave the signal.

For now, Davam remained still. He was inside a small wooden room near the top of the tower, one that was mostly bare and filled with dust. Sunlight filtered in through the gaps on the boarded windows, but otherwise the room itself was fairly dim. Davam had been in similar positions, lying in wait for the go-ahead to attack. It was not his preferred method of doing things, although in this situation he was willing to go along with it.

Movement caught his eye, specifically his peripheral vision, as he shifted the weapon around and scanned the line of soldiers and the surrounding buildings. Someone had appeared on the roof of a building at the other end of the street. An armoured figure, black as the night, stark against the yellow and brown desert backdrop. Davam recognised the armour immediately as the sort one would find worn by a Spartan. Putting aside any thought for Colonel Carson, he instead placed his scope upon the newcomer, and he watched as the Spartan levelled his own rifle in Leah's direction. Through the scope, Davam could see him placing his finger upon the trigger, and from what Davam's instincts were telling him, the Spartan intended to shoot. It was apparent that he was not with Colonel Carson, and that he was likely aligned with ONI.

Davam weighed his options within the next few seconds, as he had no way to warn Leah. If he fired, then Carson's people would likely take it as an act of aggression. If he did not shoot, Leah could die, and he would not allow that to occur. He would have to take the shot, and in so doing, bring down an almighty storm upon them all.

* * *

Spartan Eric had taken up position on a rooftop, having entered the town without alerting any of Colonel Carson's people. It had not been difficult for a Spartan to accomplish such a feat, and with his superior agility he was able to climb upon one of the buildings near the end of the main street, before crouching down on the rear-side of a pitched roof. In the sights of his M392 Designated Marksman Rifle, Eric had placed Leah, who stood talking to the Colonel from the steps of an old church. He supposed he should not be surprised that she was even trying to talk to a traitor like the Colonel, then again she was a traitor herself, so in a way he supposed it all evened out. He knew who he would be shooting first, and he set Leah firmly in the sights of his weapon, peering through the scope and placing the reticule upon her chest. A single shot to the heart would kill her, as it would kill anyone else, Spartan or not. As for Carson, he would be next, and ONI could move in and mop up the colonial soldiers.

Boone's order to keep things on the down-low and to provide reconnaissance echoed in his head. Still, he knew what had to be done here, and he would be damned if he was going to allow anyone else to steal his thunder. Leah had betrayed her very cause, going rogue the way she had, and she had caused enough trouble for ONI in the last few days. Eric would be glad to be rid of her, and he knew Boone would be glad once she was dead. She might even be impressed, and Eric smiled at the thought.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. It was a shadow, at a small window in the church tower, as if someone had moved behind the boards, obscuring the small gap there. Eric adjusted his aim, moving his scope onto the window, yet even his Spartan reflexes were not quick enough to save him from the Sangheili who had already sighted upon him. A shot rang out, and Eric felt the bullet hit him in the chest, his armour's personal shield flaring upon the impact. The round itself deflected, flying off harmlessly, no doubt squashed out of shape. Nonetheless, the concussive force had been enough to knock a chunk out of his shield's energy, and he felt himself stumble on the rear of the pitched roof. With one hand, he scrambled for a hold, feeling the roof tiles crumble and slide under his touch. Somewhat unceremoniously, the Spartan went tumbling off the back of the building, before landing in a heap in the dirt below.

* * *

When the shot rang out, Leah's gaze swept the street. None of the soldiers had fired, and even Carson appeared surprised. However, she did catch a glimpse of the armoured figure on the distant rooftop, only for it to fall out of view, personal shield flaring up. Someone had taken a shot, and she could only assume that Davam had been the one to do so. As for the armoured figure, he did not pop up again, yet even her brief glimpse had been enough to tell her who he was. ONI were here, and they had made their presence known. Leah found herself raising her rifle, as Carson had pulled his gun and his soldiers were preparing to open fire. They seemed to have assumed that Leah had lead them into an ambush, and in a way, she had. It was just that they were still unaware of ONI's arrival, although judging by the sound of the oncoming vehicles, this was about to change.

"You fucking freak," Carson spat, his voice laced with anger. His pistol was out, and Leah responded in earnest by setting her sights upon the Colonel before pulling the trigger. There was a small explosion of blood as the bullet tore through his chest, and the Colonel turned slightly where he stood, his eyes widening as if surprised at the fact that he had been shot. Time seemed to slow down for Leah then, as she watched the Colonel fall onto the ground, blood pouring from the wound. He landed in a heap, his eyes open, his peaked cap falling off and rolling a short distance from where he had come to rest.

There was an extended moment of inaction. Leah kept her rifle raised, the barrel trailing a thin wisp of smoke, as she moved it along the line of soldiers before her. They seemed at a loss, as if the death of their leader had immediately confused them. None of them appeared certain as to whether they should shoot, and a few of them had picked up on the sounds of the approaching vehicles, aware that the town was about to receive another wave of visitors. A pair of black Warthogs appeared at the far end of the street, coming to a halt whilst the occupants remained still within. They seemed to be weighing up the situation, contemplating whether to proceed or not.

Not for the first time in recent days, Leah felt completely sure of herself. As if she knew that she had always intended to be here, at this time, under these circumstances. To her, the whole situation felt so _right_ , and she found her gun-sights shifting onto one of the soldiers.

Elsewhere, she heard the crunch of wheels upon gravel, and the colonial Warthog they had 'borrowed' from Carson's compound came out of a nearby alleyway, to Leah's right. It moved on its own momentum, the engine inert and the handbrake released. There was no driver, and in the passenger seat was one occupant. Jak'Talva had set the heavy portable machine gun upon the window facing the soldiers ahead, and he let out an excited cry as he opened fire. He had acted on the 'signal', as he had been instructed. The 'signal', in this case, was the start of the shooting.

The rapid _thump-thump-thump_ of the machine gun drowned out everything else. Leah rushed for cover as the first of the soldiers returned fire, his volley of rifle bullets missing the Spartan by a wide margin as the soldier was mowed down by the barking heavy gun. The Warthog came to a halt at the other side of the road, bumping into the front of an old house. Jak'Talva paid this no heed, and continued firing madly at the retreating soldiers, bullets tearing up the parked colonial vehicles and kicking up dirt from the ground. Windows smashed and metal plating was torn asunder, with the engine of one of the parked armoured cars pouring smoke as it took a pounding from the heavy weapon.

Leah ducked behind a stack of wooden crates on the front porch of the church. Despite the cacophony of weapons fire and shouts she could hear coming from all around, she knew that things were only just getting started.


	32. The Disparate Bunch

**The Disparate Bunch**

Accord had been inside the church when the shooting had started. He had been in hiding, as Leah had instructed, and he emerged now when the fighting erupted. Armed with one of the human semi-automatic rifles, Accord made his way to the door carefully, keeping to the side of the doorway with the weapon raised and his senses attentive to what was happening outside. The heavy machine gun was pounding the enemy relentlessly, and judging from the excited, squawking calls he could hear, Jak'Talva was enjoying it a little too much.

Accord pushed open the door, feeling the heat of the sun hit him right away. Outside, a cluster of colonial vehicles were parked, and several of Carson's soldiers lay scattered and dead in the main street. The man himself, Colonel William Carson, was among them.

Leah had taken cover behind a pile of wooden crates, keeping her head down whilst Jak'Talva fired the heavy gun from the Warthog nearby. For the moment, it looked as if the Colonel's forces were falling back, but this was not to last. Accord could already see more of them moving down from further up the street, and others were rushing into buildings to escape the withering hail of fire.

"Leah," Accord called, looking to her. She returned his gaze, and Accord kept low as he moved for the cover of the wooden barricade. It would not have lasted long under fire, but for now, with the enemy distracted, it served as decent concealment. "How many are there?"

"Too many," Leah replied. He put a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, sensing the unease in her voice. It did not seem right, to have a warrior like her doubt herself now, at a crucial time. They had to stay together if they were to survive this.

As if on cue, weapons fire erupted from a window of a building near the church. Two of Carson's soldiers had taken position at a second floor window, and their rifles cracked rapidly, sending rounds tearing through the wooden barricade. Both Leah and Accord scattered to either side as splinters of wood went flying, before Accord swivelled around to face the soldier who came running from the alley nearby. He raised his rifle and let fly with a volley, planting three bullets into the oncoming soldier before he had a chance to bring his weapon to bear. The soldier spun and fell, blood seeping down the front of his uniform.

Jak'Talva swept his machine gun fire onto the second floor window, tearing apart the wooden boards and splattering blood as the high-powered rounds went tearing through the two soldiers behind them. Further ahead, more of Carson's soldiers entered view, but their attentions were diverted as black-clad ONI operatives came sweeping onto the main street. Weapons fire was exchanged as both sides immediately clashed, and Accord found himself watching from the corner he had ducked behind at this stroke of fortune, be it good or bad. Such an event would at least divert some of the enemy's attention from him and Leah.

"Yeah, that's right!" Jak'Talva was shouting in a mix of English and his native tongue, so only part of his mostly incoherent yelling made sense to Accord. "Run! Run away!" He did not release the trigger on the machine gun once, and the last ten or so bullets thumped out of its smoking hot barrel towards the soldiers further down the street. Two of them were cut down as they turned to face the oncoming wave of ONI operatives, before the magazine loaded into the weapon dried up.

Accord swept his gaze to Leah, who had ducked into the doorway of a building just ahead. From the alley by it, another pair of Carson's men appeared, and Accord rapidly worked the trigger on his rifle as he moved his aim upon them. Both of the soldiers went down, blood splattering onto the walls near them, neither fast enough on the draw to match the Forerunner in a shooting contest.

Up above, Davam's rifle thundered as the Sangheili picked off the more distant foes. Accord could hear the shots, and each one appeared to hit home, with another of Carson's men further down the road receiving a pinpoint bullet to the back of the head. The Sangheili's aim was uncanny, and Accord found himself reconsidering his prior notions about the alien warrior. Still, now was hardly the time for introspection, and instead Accord went rushing for the door of the church, keeping his eyes set on the street ahead as the scene of chaos unfolded.

Soldiers and ONI operatives had engaged each other further down the road. The soldiers were scattered, and the operatives moved swiftly, working in pairs and threes as they systematically provided cover and advanced. Nonetheless, some of them were gunned down, only for the soldiers responsible to be near-immediately gunned down themselves. Accord kept watching as this more intimidating wave of foes advanced ever closer, before his eyes went to Leah, who had opened fire from her doorway. An operative some distance away went down, his body falling backwards into a glass shopfront before the weight of the impact was enough to shatter the window entirely.

Jak'Talva was frantically reloading the machine gun as Accord watched. The Skirmisher worked the mechanism expertly, his deft fingers finding the points on the weapon that needed to be worked to facilitate the process. Within seconds he had the weapon loaded and ready to fire, and he did not hesitate to do so. Despite the smoke that poured from the searing hot barrel, Jak'Talva resumed firing, seemingly intent to destroy the weapon through rapid overuse. Nonetheless, it continued shooting, the noise it made almost deafening at this proximity. Machine gun rounds pounded across the ONI vehicles at the far end of the street, and a few of the operatives were caught in the fire as they attempted to move ahead.

Accord fell back into the doorway of the church, positioning himself just to its side as he leaned around it and took shots at what foes he could see. Another of Carson's soldiers went down from his well-placed shooting, before a black Warthog came trundling down the road towards the church. It was occupied by a pair of stern looking black-clad commandoes who were seemingly intent on meeting their enemy head-on.

Jak'Talva set his machine gun upon the Warthog, peppering the front of the vehicle with bullets. The reinforced front window only put up some resistance, hairline cracks appearing across its form as rounds struck much of it. After a few more seconds, the whole thing shattered, and the driver swerved the vehicle sharply before a bullet took the top of his head off. Blood and brain matter splattered over the front of the Warthog before it skidded and overturned, rolling a few times before coming to a stop outside the church.

Accord sighted an ONI operative on a nearby roof to his right, only for Davam to shoot him down as soon as he had shown himself. Leah pulled a grenade from her waist then, and with a powerful throw, sent it sailing through the air and down the street to where the ONI operatives were advancing, having since eliminated the bulk of Carson's force. Accord watched as a few of the operatives scattered as the grenade landed near one of their vehicles. The explosion was enough to flip the armoured Warthog entirely, where it landed on one of the operatives and promptly crushed the life out of him.

Still, the enemy came. Jak'Talva's machine gun had torn up much of the street, and bodies and bullet-ridden vehicles were scattered all over. Yet the ONI operatives pushed forwards, and Accord could see right away that things were only getting worse.

* * *

Davam had fired off most of his ammunition, leaving him with only one more fifteen-round magazine for his rifle. He used it carefully, taking the shots he knew he would not miss. From his perch in the church tower, he sighted and shot an ONI operative who had climbed upon a building on the right flank. The first bullet went through the operative's shoulder, making him fall. Nonetheless, he began to rise back onto his feet, and Davam planted another bullet in him without so much as a second thought. This one hit the operative in the neck, and the geyser of blood that followed made it clear that it had connected with something important. The operative went falling off of the roof, spurting blood as he went down.

Davam remained still as he shifted his aim, gunning down another operative who appeared from within a narrow alley ahead of Leah's position. The Spartan seemed to look up at him in acknowledgement of his assistance upon seeing the dead operative hit the ground, before turning her attention to the enemy ahead.

How many more were there? Davam found it hard to determine just how many of their enemies remained, as smoke had begun to fill the street, both from smoke grenades deployed by the ONI operatives and from the small spot fires that raged here and there, along with vehicles that had taken numerous bullets. Despite this, he was able to pick out a few foes amongst the haze, gunning them down with hardly a second thought. The movements he made and the shots he took were automatic to him, his muscles carrying them out without any significant input from his brain.

Davam paused for a moment, before checking the ammunition readout on his weapon. Four bullets, hardly enough to make a great difference in a situation like this one. It seemed best now that he change position, especially when a volley of rifle fire struck the church tower near the window. He ducked, splinters of wood flying as holes were blown through the planks, followed by fresh spots of sunlight as it streaked in through the newly-created holes. His enemies had become aware of his position and were taking action, more than enough reason to change his tactics.

He took up his rifle and turned around. From here, he headed down the winding stairs within the tower, hurrying into the main hall. Here, there were rows of wooden seats with an aisle down the middle, all of which faced an altar that was mostly bare of any real religious symbols. Davam's knowledge of human religions was fairly limited, although he had some idea as to what this building had been used for. A place of worship to the higher power many humans believed in, that of an almighty and all-seeing single god who apparently watched over them. He wondered just how many people could remain faithful after the Human-Covenant war, when billions had been slaughtered all in the name of the Covenant religion, which had been proven to be false.

As Davam entered the hall, one of the furthest windows smashed. He raised his rifle, watching as an ONI operative began to scramble through the window frame. Davam shot him twice, halting the operative's attempt to get inside within seconds, sending the operative falling backwards with shards of glass landing around him. He was not the only one to attempt a flank, as Davam saw, with another of the windows nearby smashing as an operative fired a few shots into it. He peered into the church, spraying submachine gun fire in Davam's direction. The Sangheili dived as the bullets tore into a row of wooden seats to his right, and he fired off the last two bullets in his rifle as he hit the ground. The operative fell down out of sight, blood splattering onto what remained of the window.

Davam threw the now empty rifle to the floor, eyeing his surroundings for another weapon. His gaze fell upon the submachine gun the operative had dropped when climbing through the window, and Davam rushed over to it and promptly picked it up. He was dimly aware of footsteps outside, and he looked up to see another operative appear in the broken window, this one wielding a shotgun.

Davam rolled to one side with the submachine gun in hand as the shotgun fired, a chunk of the wooden floorboards erupting into a hundred pieces near the Sangheili. He pulled the trigger on the submachine gun, hosing the operative down with submachine gun rounds, watching him twitch and convulse as spurts of blood erupted out of each newly shot hole that appeared on his form. He finally fell into a heap upon the window-sill, half-leaning inside, head down and blood pouring from his many wounds.

Davam picked up the operative's shotgun in his other hand before he turned for the front door, submachine gun in his other hand. He made his way outside into the thick of it, glimpsing Accord behind a building on the left, and Leah in a doorway a little further ahead. Jak'Talva was still in the back of the Warthog, and his machine gun was still firing, the sound of its rapid thunder echoing throughout the town. Davam could see, that even with the four of them, they were greatly outnumbered. ONI operatives were pouring into the town from all directions, and even now another one appeared from an alley to Davam's right. He swivelled around, one-handing the shotgun as he raised it and pulled the trigger. The operative's face became a shredded, bloody red mess before he fell backwards.

Another Warthog appeared further down the street. This one was fitted with a gauss turret, a devastating mounted gun that Davam had faced in the past. The operator turned it in the direction of the church, and Davam had a feeling about what was coming.

"Get down!" He shouted.

* * *

Leah saw the gauss turret, and she heard Davam's shout. She turned around and rushed up the church steps, Accord following in her wake, as the pair of them opted for the cover of the church interior. Davam remained on the steps, a submachine gun raised in one hand as he swept its rapid fire across a pair of advancing ONI soldiers. They both crumpled, one of them clenching the trigger of their gun in their dying seconds, sending forth a stream of assault rifle fire that went flying wildly into the air.

Jak'Talva was the last to take cover. He turned and jumped from the Warthog as the gauss turret fired, the tungsten shell travelling instantaneously into its target. There was a flash, before the Warthog Jak'Talva had been occupying exploded into flame, the smouldering wreck being lifted a few feet into the air before it crashed against the front of a nearby building. Leah did not see Jak'Talva emerge from the smoke as she fell back into the church, with Accord close behind. Davam covered their retreat from the steps, although by now several of the operatives had started to move forwards through the haze. They seized on this opportunity to advance, now that the heavy gun had been neutralised. Leah turned around to watch as Davam caught a bullet in the chest, purple blood erupting from the wound as the burly Sangheili wavered slightly.

Davam did not take long to recover. He one-handed the shotgun, blowing away one of the operatives before another appeared from the left flank. This one shot him in the side before Davam could turn to face him, yet even with another piece of hot lead shot through him Davam turned to face his foe and promptly shot him down, sending the operative rolling down the church steps, smearing a trail of blood in his wake.

Leah remained in the doorway, shooting off what few rounds she had left in her rifle. Davam remained stalwart despite the blood pouring down his chest, and he hosed down the approaching operatives with his submachine gun before the weapon's magazine was empty. Three of them went down, the others scattering, before one further down the street from the cover of a smoking Warthog let fly with a battle rifle burst that shredded its way through the Sangheili's chest and one of his hearts. Leah watched Davam finally fall, his other heart struggling to compensate, the grip on both his guns faltering before he hit the ground and slumped upon the steps. The look in his eyes was almost one of disappointment, as if he had not killed enough of them to satisfy him. Seconds later, and his eyes were closed and body was still, sprawled across the church steps with blood pooling around him.

Leah swallowed. She had hardly known the Sangheili Ranger, yet to see him so willingly give up his life for them, it struck a chord in her she had not been sure had existed. She had seen close friends die before, but that had always been on missions. What they were doing here was something else, something much more personal.

Accord slammed the church doors shut then, cutting off her view of Davam and the street outside.

"We have to leave," the Forerunner said. "There is simply no other choice."

Leah did not reply. She felt numb, as if the most basic of actions had suddenly become difficult. She had not counted on ONI having so many reinforcements, then again she had not expected things to be easy.

"We can't leave Jak'Talva," Leah said, much to her own surprise. Why would she possibly care about the irritating Skirmisher? Yet he had been outside, and he had been fighting for them willingly. He did not deserve to die, and neither had Davam.

* * *

Jak'Talva was slightly dazed and very dirty, but otherwise he was alive. He picked himself up amongst the smoke and dust the explosion of the Warthog had caused, before his hands fell upon a rifle that had been lying by a fallen soldier. He picked it up, his bloodlust still raging through him. Not once had he thought that he could possibly enjoy such a life-threatening situation, and yet he was gaining such a thrill from it that he could hardly see himself doing anything else.

ONI operatives shuffled through the smoke as they moved for the church. None noticed the Skirmisher amongst the haze, not yet anyway, and Jak'Talva took this as an opportunity. With a slight chuckle he brought the rifle to bear and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the back of the nearest of the black-clad operatives. This one fell into a heap straight away, a hole blown through his chest, while the others immediately turned in the direction of the shot. Jak'Talva did not give the few ahead of him an opportunity to return fire, as he promptly gunned each one down, working the trigger of his rifle rapidly. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around, watching as the black-armoured Spartan appeared from the smoke. He had his rifle raised, yet even he could not avoid the Skirmisher shooting him.

Jak'Talva blasted the gun out of the Spartan's hands, the impact enough to make his shield flare. With this done, the Skirmisher continued firing, planting enough bullets into Spartan Eric's personal shield to overload it and make it fail. The next shot caught him across the visor, smashing it and making the armoured soldier stumble. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, before Jak'Talva became aware that his gun was now empty. With this in mind, he turned it around, wielding it like a club as he eyed the Spartan.

"Come and get it!" He exclaimed, without any real regard for his own life. If he was going to die, he was going to go down fighting. Spartan Eric seemed happy to oblige, as he pulled a knife from a sheathe at his waist and rushed the remaining distance between the two of them. Jak'Talva felt as if he had been hit by a truck when the Spartan collided with him, knocking him into the dirt before plunging the knife into his shoulder. The pain was intense, and Jak'Talva let out a screech before he brought up the butt of his rifle and slammed it across the Spartan's helmeted head. This was enough to push him off of him, and Jak'Talva hurriedly rose to his feet, the blade still stuck in his left shoulder, the arm hanging limp by his side.

Spartan Eric was quick to recover, and he reared up for another blow. A punch from the right came the Skirmisher's way, and he ducked underneath it before tackling the Spartan. The Spartan grabbed him by the sides and threw him into the ground again, knocking some of the wind from him and exacerbating the pain of the knife stuck in his shoulder. Jak'Talva let out a pained squawk, one hand going for the blade before he gripped the protruding hilt and yanked it out in one strong motion. Again, he screeched, this time as the pain shot all the way through his chest. The knife was sticky with his blood, and he gripped it tightly in one hand as he went to sit up.

The Spartan was upon him again, except this time Jak'Talva was ready for him. As the enhanced soldier wrapped a hand around the Skirmisher's throat, full intent on throttling him, Jak'Talva swung the bloodied knife up and plunged it through the broken visor upon the Spartan's helmet. The blade hit the soft, jelly-like flesh of an eye before it went the rest of the way into his skull and brain, and the Spartan seemed to falter for a moment as if surprised by this development. Jak'Talva, his heart pounding in his chest and his clothing sticky with his own blood, watched with an odd sense of accomplishment as the Spartan fell off of him with a knife protruding from his head. He landed in a heap to the Skirmisher's side, giving Jak'Talva some relief, although it did not last long. Within seconds he found himself surrounded by armed ONI goons, and among them was the woman herself, Commander Laura Boone. He recognised her from his brief stay upon the frigate she had commanded, and he offered her a wry smile as two of her subordinates hefted the Skirmisher up and onto his knees.

* * *

Commander Boone had seen better days. What had meant to be a clean sweep had instead turned into a slaughterhouse, as Carson's soldiers had been present and, to add further insult to injury, Leah and her alien friends had taken out more than half of the reinforcements she had been granted. Now, not only had scores of her people been killed, but now the one Spartan she could rely on, the one she had come to trust with the most difficult of missions, had been unceremoniously killed by a Skirmisher, of all things. Eric was dead, a knife protruding from his skull in a manner that was almost comical. Boone did her best to maintain her composure at seeing him like that, and instead turned her attention to the Skirmisher responsible as two of the commandoes lifted the bird-like alien onto his knees.

Nearby, several of the other operatives were heading for the church. Both Accord and Leah had retreated inside, cornering themselves no less, which should at least make things a bit easier. For now, Boone focused her attention on the Skirmisher, who appeared to be smiling at her in a toothy, almost mischievous way.

"I think you've done enough damage," Boone said. She reached for her waist, her hand going for her pistol. After a few seconds feeling over the hilt of the weapon, her hand instead drifted along her belt to where her combat knife was sheathed. Jak'Talva watched her, maintaining his toothy smile, as if the whole situation amused him tremendously. He watched her pull the knife from its sheath, and even when it became apparent what she intended to do, he continued smiling.

"How about you all just surrender?" Jak'Talva said, the smugness in his voice blatant. Boone felt her anger spike, and her hand clenched tightly around the hilt of her knife, turning her knuckles white. "I mean, most of your people are dead. If you get out of this one, boss lady, you'll probably go down in history as an abysmal failure. So, in good faith, I think we can negotiate some kind of surrender. What do you say?"

Boone held the blade up in front of her, pointing it towards the Skirmisher. He eyed it, without so much as a hint of fear, and again he gave her that toothy smile.

"I'm going to warn you now," Jak'Talva said. "I'm a screamer."

Boone plunged the knife forth, and the Skirmisher let out a cry that echoed throughout the desert.


	33. End of the Line

**End of the Line**

There was nowhere left to go. Leah and Accord were in the church, and the remaining ONI soldiers had the whole place surrounded. Crouched by the front door, Leah could hear them moving about outside, barking orders at each other as they moved into position for what would probably be the final assault. How many were left? Leah could hardly estimate such a thing, as she had not known how many had come to begin with. Surely Boone did not have a whole army at her disposal?

She glanced over at Accord. He stood on the other side of the front door, and his eyes met with her own. He seemed strangely calm, as if the whole situation was normal, yet Leah realised that he tended to look like that most of the time anyway. He was hard to read, even after how close the two of them had become.

"How are you for ammunition?" Leah asked. She checked the magazine in her colonial semiautomatic rifle; about seven rounds, and no spares. Hardly enough to hold off a small army. Accord checked his rifle, and slowly shook his head.

"Three bullets," he replied, his voice level. They really were in trouble now, as the ONI soldiers would not hesitate to shoot. They might have wanted the Forerunner alive, but after all the carnage outside, it was unlikely they would even try to be careful in that regard. In their eyes, both Accord and Leah had done far more damage than they should have, and they would have to pay for it. Leah knew how these ONI black ops people worked, and how they thought, and they were not above acts of vengeance.

"We'll have to scavenge some," Leah said. She looked around, taking in the broken windows and the dead ONI commando who was slumped half inside over a window-sill. There was a pistol at his waist, and a few spare magazines to go with it. Quickly, she darted over to the dead man and took his M6 pistol, along with the extra ammunition.

"You should take that," she said, throwing the gun to Accord, who caught it in one hand. She passed him the spare magazines, and the Forerunner looked over the weapon with a curious gaze.

"What is your plan?" He asked, looking back to her. Leah had moved into the central aisle, aware of just how exposed they were in this flimsy old building.

"I haven't got one," she replied. An honest answer for a valid question, and Accord seemed to nod his head in acknowledgement of this. "We're just going to have to kill as many of them as we can." Her voice betrayed the lack of confidence she felt in this, and Accord picked up on it right away.

"I think we've done well so far," he said, likely trying to make her feel better. Leah could appreciate the attempt, but the nature of their situation did not make it any easier.

"You know we never stood a chance, right?" Leah had known this from the beginning. Spartan or not, she was human, and even she would have trouble taking on the whole of the Office of Naval Intelligence, and by extension the UNSC. Accord's eyes slightly narrowed upon hearing her say this, and as he had before, he placed one placating hand upon her shoulder.

"We always had a chance," Accord replied.

Leah swallowed. She was not sure how she felt right now, aside from the sinking feeling that she had failed in her self-appointed mission to protect Accord. He could certainly look after himself, but she had made it her mission to keep him away from ONI. Having him cornered by ONI was hardly the outcome she had wanted. His optimism was admirable, yet it was doing little to improve her mood.

Outside, there was a screech, the cry of a Skirmisher before it was sharply silenced. Leah could only assume that Jak'Talva had finally met his end, and she felt another pang of regret. Davam had died for her and Accord, and now Jak'Talva had. Despite all the trouble the Skirmisher had been, he had still stuck with them and he had fought until the end. It was yet another death that would hang upon her conscience, one that was already well-burdened by those friends and comrades she had seen die throughout the war. In a way, her war had never ended; rather, her enemies had changed and her purpose had altered. She had been fighting for her soul, and through saving Accord she had thought that maybe she could do something worthy of being human and not a 'machine', as Nolte had said.

"I don't want to lose you," Leah said. She could not keep the emotion out of her voice. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she could feel herself on the verge of tears. An emotional response, the kind she had been taught to bury under any circumstances, yet here she was, about to cry. It was almost amusing, really, and she had to stifle a laugh while Accord watched on, some vague confusion crossing his usually stoic features. "We only just got to know each other. I mean…" She trailed off, hardly able to form a proper sentence. She was at a loss as to what to say, and instead her empty hand went up to the one Accord had placed upon her shoulder. They clasped them together, intertwining their fingers, and Leah found herself leaning her head slightly into his touch.

"You have to survive," Accord said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Leah felt her eyes widen slightly, startled by this statement. "We're in this together. I gave up everything to save you, to be with you. We're here because of me."

"This isn't my place," Accord replied. "I'm a stranger to this time. There is nowhere for me to go, nowhere for me to live. If you were to stay with me, we would be hunted, as you've said. Hunted for as long as we lived. That is no life to live." His voice was serious, and Leah realised, once she got past that immediate wave of denial, that the Forerunner was very much correct.

"You showed me that there are some good humans out there, Leah," Accord added. "And that not everything in this unfamiliar galaxy is backwards and barbaric, as most of my people would likely have thought." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air between them. Leah knew deep inside her that this was goodbye, yet it was not something she was willing to accept. They had been through so much together after all, and she had finally found herself in love with someone, something she would have otherwise thought unlikely before recently. Spartans were not really supposed to 'love' anyone, such emotions and feelings were meant to be drummed out of them at a young age.

"One of us may be able to escape," Accord said. "It is me they are after. Perhaps they will leave you be, if you go your own way?" It sounded like speculation, but Leah knew that it was his plan of action. He intended to give himself up to ONI, the one thing Leah had done so much to prevent.

"I can't let you do that," Leah said, trying to keep her voice steady. This was becoming increasingly difficult, and she could feel her hands shaking and her heart pounding in her chest. "We can both get out of here. We can find somewhere, anywhere to hide…" She trailed off, aware that what she was saying was unlikely to come to pass. With a Forerunner in tow, it would be virtually impossible to get anywhere undetected.

"Damn it, Accord." Leah swallowed again, trying to keep her emotions under control. "I'm not leaving you. Certainly not the man I love." She had said it, although it had not been the first time. When they had made love the night before, she had blurted it out in the heat of the moment, when their bodies had been intertwined and their passions at their most heated.

"You won't forget me," Accord replied. From one pocket he retrieved a small, glowing blue oval, smooth and glazed. It seemed to be infused with an energy that cast a dull glow around it, and Leah recognized it as the 'button' he had been manipulating at the Forerunner terminal the day before, the same one that had allowed them to experience his memories. He placed it in her hand, and Leah slowly shook her head.

"I'm not leaving you," she said. Nonetheless, she slid the object into a pocket on her jacket. As she did this, there were shouts from outside. A silver cylinder with a red stripe across it flew through one of the broken windows then, landing halfway down the central aisle within the church. Accord grabbed Leah and threw the both of them to the floor as the incendiary grenade detonated, erupting into a large ball of searing flame that enveloped the centre of the church hall. Burning blobs of fuel landed around them, creating spot fires of their own.

ONI was going to burn them out. Another one of the grenades landed near the altar, having smashed through an intact stained-glass window displaying an illustration of Christ on the cross. Said picture was shattered into dozens of pieces, before being shrouded in the plume of flame that exploded from the incendiary device. The mostly bare altar vanished under the searing heat, and smoke plumed from it and the first fire. It began to fill the inside of the church, stinging at Leah's eyes as she rose to her feet. Accord did the same, and the pair turned to face each other as the first of the ONI operatives appeared at a window.

Accord shot him down without a second thought, sending the dead operative falling out of view. Leah swivelled around, rifle raised, as another window further down the hall smashed open. An operative came vaulting through, somersaulting upon the floor before coming up and opening fire with an assault rifle. Accord dived to the floor behind a row of seats as bullets tore across the top of them, sending wooden splinters flying. Leah opened fire with her rifle, planting a few bullets into the floor near the operative before one of them struck him in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards. Nonetheless, his weapon let fly with a volley, and Leah felt one of the rounds go through her upper chest, below the right shoulder. The sudden jolt of pain was enough to make her drop her rifle, and she fell back against the wall behind her, feeling blood run down her chest and into her clothes.

She had taken bullets and plasma bolts before, and they always hurt. This one was going to prove troublesome, as she could already feel the painful muscle spasms rocking her right arm, which now hung by her side. Try as she might, she could hardly lift it halfway, and the pain that was going through it made such movements more trouble than they were worth anyway. She knew she could bleed out if she did not patch this one up soon, yet she was not going to get an opportunity to do so anytime soon.

She looked to Accord. He had put a hand to her shoulder, and he regarded her wound with a worried gaze.

"Please, Leah," he said, and she saw a look in his eyes that made her realise then that this was what he wanted. "Survive. For me."

"I…I can't leave you." Leah stumbled over her words, and she found herself stumbling down the church hall. As the blood flowed out of her chest wound, the world itself seemed to spin around her, and it took her a minute to realise that Accord had picked her up. His superior strength made such a feat fairly easy, and he had her hoisted over his shoulder as he barged through the smoke and fire, taking her to the church's rear exit as more of the operatives burst inside. Accord gunned down a few more operatives at the rear of the church before he set her down outside, hidden in a ditch amongst the dry desert undergrowth, fading in and out of consciousness.

* * *

Accord-of-Perpetual-Resilience had accepted the possibility of his death a long time ago. It was a part of being a Warrior-Servant, as any battle could be your last. His brothers and sisters had all died before him, slain by human warriors, yet even with that in mind he had somehow found himself loving the human warrior Leah, who had helped him when he had needed it most. He wondered what that would have made him in the eyes of his people, had they still been around. Even now, after days spent in this new and unfamiliar galaxy, there were some things he was still struggling to wrap his head around.

He turned and left Leah where she was, even as she reached out one hand towards him as he walked away. She was in no state to continue, and he intended on taking at least most of their enemies down as to allow her to get away. It was the least he could do for her, and as much as he wanted to do more, he knew that it was himself who was the cause of the problem here. ONI had come searching for him, and he intended to give them what they wanted.

He had accepted his death, and this thought was in mind as he pulled a trio of incendiary grenades from a fallen operative near the rear of the church.

The church was ablaze by this point. Fire and smoke poured from its windows, wooden planks alight and falling down as the flames charred and warped them. Accord made his way around the side of the building and towards the front, where the bodies of Davam and Jak'Talva still lay. It was here he came face-to-face with about twenty armed ONI soldiers, all of whom had been watching the church burn, likely believing both Leah and himself to be inside and burning along with it.

Amongst the row of soldiers was Commander Boone, the woman who had interrogated him when he had first woken up after being in stasis. She looked to him as he emerged from the smoke, and her mouth opened, only for it to be cut off by the sound of Accord firing a shot. He carried the pistol Leah had found on the dead operative, and he planted a bullet into Boone's chest. The woman stumbled but did not go down, although she did begin to yell. What she said was quickly drowned out by the following cacophony of weapons fire.

The soldiers who had been standing near her opened up with their mix of assault rifles and submachine guns, and Accord felt several rounds strike his chest plate, once part of his full Forerunner armour suit. Most pinged off the advanced metal alloy, but the sheer force of their impacts was enough to make Accord falter where he stood. Nonetheless, he continued shooting, blasting down three more of the ONI operatives before a bullet struck his unarmoured left arm. Purple blood spurted from the wound and he felt a sharp, hot pain shoot up the limb. He gritted his teeth, yet again missing the presence of his full working armour. That would have provided ample relief from such injuries, and would have likely prevented them in the first place.

He emptied his pistol entirely as he advanced upon the line of soldiers, gunning down a further two before another round tore through his right leg. This one made him stumble, as the wounded leg gave way under him. His pistol empty, he began to reload, only for another rifle round to tear through his left hand. Two of his fingers went with it, and he dropped his gun as he flung his arm back, flinching from the pain and the sensation of having part of him torn away. About six of the black-clad operatives approached him, weapons raised, faceless behind their visors and respirators. Accord looked up at them, and then thought of Leah, of the possibility of her getting away now that their enemies had him. And if he were to die, then they might not pursue her as ruthlessly as they had been. He was the reason she was in the situation she was, and though she had helped him through love, he could not burden her anymore with what he was and the problems it had caused. Leah would be better off this way, as painful as it would be to begin with, but she would heal, as did everyone.

Boone stepped forwards, bleeding from a hole shot through her left shoulder. She glared at Accord, but a smug look appeared on her face, as she regarded the wounded Forerunner.

"We're not done with you yet," she said. They would take him, that was their intention, and they would experiment on him as they had always planned.

With his good hand, Accord tore off his armour chest piece and dropped it to one side. With his good hand he reached into his jacket and pulled out two of the incendiary grenades he had retrieved moments before. He yanked the pins from both, and promptly dropped them to the ground in front of him. Boone saw them fall forth, rolling towards her, and her eyes widened slightly.

"You can't always get what you want," Accord stated.

His enemies would not have him, not even his body, and as he dropped the grenades, he saw the demeanours of the operatives standing around him falter. It was too late for them now, of course; they would be burned, as thoroughly as he would be. All he did now was wait for the inevitable, and it did not take long for both devices to detonate, bathing him in searing hot flame and those around him. The heat was intense, but the pain only fleeting, as the last Forerunner disappeared into fire, the universe's most basic force of destruction.

* * *

Leah faded in and out of consciousness as she continued to bleed, yet her enhanced physiology allowed her to bring herself back to the waking realm while most ordinary humans may have very well fallen into shock by this point. She had seen Accord leave her to face their enemies, and she found herself rising onto her feet despite the pain that wracked her body, and the fear that ran through her at the thought of what may have happened to him. She stumbled around the burning church, smoke stinging her eyes and nose, filling her view and reducing her visibility to a minimum. Nonetheless, she hobbled past the building and towards the street, where a large fire burned, and within it several charred corpses. The ONI operatives were all dead, their bodies strewn about the town like litter. Even Commander Boone was among them, lying several metres from the large fire, her eyes staring up lifelessly at the midday sky.

Leah did not see Accord right away. She had to lean against a stack of old wooden crates as another stab of pain shot through her, and the world about her seemed to sway a little as her senses once again threatened to fall into complete disorientation. As she steadied herself, she looked into the flames, and there she saw the large, mostly blackened skeleton on its knees, shreds of clothing hanging off of it as it burned like a funeral pyre. She did not have to guess as to who it had been, and she felt the world around her seemingly crash upon her as her emotions finally broke through. Everything had fallen apart, and when she had come to love Accord the most, he had been taken from her. When she had finally felt human for once, and yet now there was nothing left for her but ashes. He had done this for her, to give her a chance to escape, yet all Leah could think of now was staying. She did not want to leave, not like this, not when the Forerunner she had come to love was now little more than a charred, still burning skeleton.

She heard voices from further up ahead. Leah hobbled over to a cluster of dead ONI operatives, and here she snatched up a pistol from one of them. Amongst the smoke and dusty haze, she could see the silhouettes of several approaching soldiers. ONI operatives, she saw, judging from their outfits. There was little left for them to find now, save a whole lot of dead bodies, and only a handful of them remained. Nonetheless, Leah felt her rage spike at the sight of them, and she brought up the pistol and began firing. Her aim was a little off, given her physical state, and the first of her shots went flying wide. The noise was enough to draw the attention of the group of soldiers towards her, and they raised their weapons, trying to sight her through the smoke. Leah fired again and watched one of them fall, before the others started shooting back.

Leah felt a shot hit her in the right leg and she fell, a searing, stinging pain going up through her leg and into her waist. Nonetheless, she raised the gun again and began firing it off quickly, emptying the magazine as the last several rounds brought down two more of the operatives before she felt another assault rifle round tear through her left arm and lower chest. This was enough to knock her down, and she let out a cry that was both a mix of pain and sheer anger, yet she kept on fighting, adrenaline and rage powering her movements as she mowed down another operative. The others began to scatter, and Leah rose to her feet, screaming incoherently as the full force of her loss and despair hit her.

Another operative fell down ahead of her, bullets having torn through his chest. One cropped up on her left, emerging from behind a smouldering Warthog. She shot him through the head, and as he fell she realised that there was only one left. He was further ahead, surrounded by the bodies of the other operatives and several of Carson's people. Seemingly aware of is predicament, he turned around to make a retreat, but Leah shot him through the upper leg. As he fell down, screaming, Leah went to shoot again, only to find that her gun was empty.

Throwing it aside, she set upon the wounded man with her bare hands, punching him in the visor, causing the plastic to crack open. Her other hand found the combat knife the operative had in a sheathe at the waist, and she pulled it out, before plunging the blade into his chest. She felt a gasp leave him as the steel went between his ribs, and she pulled it out and stabbed him again. And again. And again. She became dimly aware of the blood that covered her hands, and the way the mutilated flesh under her stopped moving. Still, she kept going until her arm tired, all the while screaming in rage as the Spartan finally let it all out.

And then she was alone, in the old mining town, surrounded by the dead and immersed in a haze of smoke.


	34. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Three months could be a long time for some, depending on one's view, and much could change in the ninety days or so that comprised such a period. On Thrace, a lot did change in that time, most of it in regards to the independent government under the late Colonel William Carson. The planet had always been a backwater, unknown to most inhabitants of the Inner Colonies and Earth, and it had only been through Commander Laura Boone's Operation Distant Thunder that the colony had become a focal point, although even that had fizzled out ever since the failure of that operation. For now, Thrace and other worlds like it, remained independent and traded amongst themselves, and even with the former Covenant races.

It was not a place that Linda-058 would have normally visited. As a Spartan-II, she had been to many different worlds and fought many different enemies, and walking the streets of Thrace reminded her of the insurrectionist worlds she had visited before the Human-Covenant war. She recognized the settler types, rough and rugged, and the uniforms of the soldiers who patrolled the streets. She had seen it all before, and whereas in the past she might have come to such a place to kill people, this time around she was here purely for personal reasons. Outfitted in unassuming civilian clothing, comprised of a freighter pilot's jacket and a set of grey cargo pants and military grade boots, she kept her head down and weaved through the crowds on the narrow streets with a singular purpose in mind. It had taken some doing, ever since she had first heard of the 'incident' nearly three months prior, but she felt that she had finally had some success in her search.

This much was confirmed by the presence of the two guards at the front of the unassuming restaurant on the edge of Deckar's Stand. They stopped her as she approached, giving her odd looks as they regarded the tall, muscular woman before them, and the narrowed view she gave them as they patted her down and checked her for any listening devices and weapons. Satisfied, they allowed her to proceed. Linda would not normally have travelled to a place like this unarmed, but for the one she was to meet, she felt she could put some faith in her. In all accounts, the one she was to meet was a traitor, but Spartan-to-Spartan, there was a much stronger layer of trust there.

Inside the restaurant were several patrons, men and women and even a Kig-Yar who was seated at the bar, downing shot after shot as if intentionally trying to get drunk. Music played from a set of speakers near the counter, and an elderly couple danced slowly along with what could only be described as 'easy listening' music. In the far corner a lone figure was seated, tall and dressed in similar clothing to Linda. She had her head down, and a glass of water by one hand. By all appearances, she looked like someone who was waiting.

Linda approached the corner table and the other woman looked up, a flash of recognition appearing on her features.

"Petty Officer," the woman said.

"Senior Chief," Linda replied. She sat down across the table from Leah-022, watching her fellow Spartan carefully. It had been years since they had last spoken, yet when Linda had heard about what had happened here on Thrace she had decided to pursue her own line of investigation. She needed to know what had happened herself, rather than what she could gleam from any reports written by ONI, which tended to blur the truth and warp it into something unlike what it had originally been.

"I didn't think you, of all people, would come all the way out here to find me," Leah said. She spoke in a level tone, yet there was a tiredness to her voice. The mark of someone burned out by the weight of the world on their shoulders, or of someone who had simply been through too much in too short a time.

"To be honest, a bunch of us drew straws," Linda replied.

"A bunch?"

"Three of us."

Leah nodded in acknowledgement of this, and she let out a light huff, as if she had been expecting to hear something like it.

"What do they say about me?" Leah asked. She sounded genuinely curious.

"Nothing. ONI's struck you from public records. They want to make sure no one in the general population learns of the rogue Spartan and the trouble she caused." Linda frowned as she said this, still unable to quite believe that one of their own had gone off the deep end like Leah had. "Why did you do it, Senior Chief? That's the question we all want answered."

Leah was silent for a moment, tapping the fingers of one hand absently upon the table. In the other, she held an oval-shaped blue crystal of some design, and she rolled it about in her palm almost as absently. It seemed to be imbued with an inner light, and Linda found her gaze going for it as she waited for Leah's response.

"It was the right thing to do," she finally replied.

"Was turning against the UNSC really the right thing to do?" Linda returned her eyes to Leah's own. She saw nothing but determination within them, and she knew that Leah meant what she said.

"Have you ever loved someone, Linda?" Leah asked her. The question struck her as an odd one, yet she could see the seriousness in Leah's eyes.

"How do you mean?"

"Actually loved someone. A man, a woman, anyone. Loved, and be loved, yourself?" Leah slipped the oval shaped crystal into a pocket in her jacket. "Because if you ever feel the way I did about someone, you might find yourself doing things you would not have normally considered."

"So it's true, then?" Linda found herself leaning forwards slightly, keen to learn more. "The Forerunner. You did it all for him? For an enemy?"

"He wasn't our enemy," Leah countered, as sure of herself as ever. "Perhaps if you'd met him, you wouldn't be so quick to judge. You have to remember, Linda, you and I, we're human beings. We might have been conditioned to be as inhuman as possible, to do nothing but follow orders and kill bad guys, but no amount of conditioning can get rid of it all. One day it'll come flooding back, like it did for me, and when it happens to you, you'll feel like your whole life has been a mistake until that point. That's what it felt like for me, and I did what I could to fix that mistake." Leah paused for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. Linda did not buy it entirely, despite the genuine nature in which Leah spoke.

"I know you don't believe me," Leah added. "But you will, one day." There was another silence between the two of them, this one longer than most. Linda looked about the restaurant, at the ramshackle nature of it, and the seeming innocence of the ordinary people within. Inside this establishment, they did not strike her as the rough colonial types she was used to. They were people, pure and simple, human beings with lives and loves and ambitions and flaws. Maybe Leah had been around them for too long, but for a moment there Linda thought she could believe in what Leah was saying.

"Have you come to kill me?" Leah asked. It was phrased as a straight question, despite its nature. Linda slowly shook her head.

"Maybe one day you'll come here to do just that," Leah she added. She rose to her feet then, and Linda saw the somewhat noticeable bulge at her stomach. She knew better than to assume it was mere weight gain. "For now, though, I think you should leave. I can't guarantee your safety here, not for much longer anyway."

"What about you?" Linda rose out of her chair as Leah went to leave. "You can't stay here. Someday, someone's going to come here to kill you, and I don't want it to be me. We're practically sisters…"

"No, we're not." Leah stopped by the table and shook her head. "You had your brothers and sisters, I had mine. Thing is, everyone of mine is dead." She motioned towards the front entrance. "Go home, Linda. Forget you ever saw me. It'll be for the best."

Linda was not sure how to respond. Leah was a Spartan-II, one whom she had fought alongside with on more than one occasion. She would not be able to forget her, no matter how hard she tried. There were so few of them left after all, and she had thought that maybe Leah might have wanted to come home. Looking at her now, it was apparent that Leah had found a new home for herself, despite its rough-looking nature.

"Go on," Leah said. "Before the guards outside realise what you are."

Linda knew then that there would be no persuading Leah, who had long since made up her mind. She turned and started out of the restaurant, all the while Leah watched on. The elderly couple continued to dance, and Linda offered one last look back at Leah before she stepped out of the door and into the warmth of the street outside. She felt like she was losing one of her own, despite the circumstances, and it occurred to her that she would never see Leah again. The saviour of Thrace from the Covenant, and its newest leader. Still, nothing lasted forever, and sooner or later the UNSC would want to do something about the rogue Spartan and the independent planet she had come to be in charge of.

Until then, Linda had other duties to attend to. Leah's words would certainly ring on in her mind, but after a while they would fade, and any doubts she had about her purpose in life would also fade. She was a Spartan at heart, more so than Leah may have ever been.

* * *

END

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I can only hope you enjoyed this story, as I certainly enjoyed writing it.


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